


Hit the Switch

by dizzywhiz



Category: Glee
Genre: Adam & Dave are not heavily featured, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Infidelity, M/M, but like encouraged infidelity, kind of, klaine endgame, professors!Klaine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: Feeling complacent in their lives, Kurt and Blaine enter an intensive research study meant to explore the strength of married couples through temporarily switching each partner with a new "experimental spouse." Blaine is eager to take the opportunity to work on his marriage, but Kurt is more hesitant, prepared to just do his time and go back to normal life.As it turns out, things quickly take a turn, sending them down a weeklong path unlike anything either of them could have anticipated.
Relationships: Adam Crawford/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/David Karofsky, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 147
Kudos: 115





	1. A Month Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hello, and welcome to my new wip! the summary may sound a little strange, but I hope you'll give it a try - we're in for an angsty ride, hopefully full of lots of good feelings.
> 
> this one might be a little slower-going than a lot of my past fics, so bear with me! I'm hoping to get up a couple chapters a week.
> 
> lightly inspired by the reality tv show "seven year switch," though quickly becomes derivative. hope you enjoy!

_Seven Year Itch: Risk or Myth?_

_NYU Psychology Department Recruiting for Weeklong Intensive Relationship Experiment_

_Married Couples Invited to Apply_

Blaine wasn’t sure why _that_ flyer stood out to him amongst the clutter of roommate wanted ads and gigs and accompanist searches and lost pet flyers on the music building’s bulletin board. 

He wasn’t sure why it made him stop in his tracks in his normal head-down, fast-walk commute to his office, wasn’t sure why his hand moved of its own accord to tear an information tab from the page.

He wasn’t sure why he kept thinking about it, either, or why he opened the psychology department’s website the moment he got into his office and logged onto his computer, or why he felt like it was something they should _do._

Psychology studies were commonly advertised around campus - psych majors were always looking for participants in quick experiments studying memory, social interactions, even brain activity, and students were always looking for a bit of extra money in their pockets. It was a win-win for everyone involved, typically either a quick in and out or a short term commitment, no harm done. Blaine had participated in a few back in his own college days, had even gotten an MRI for one of them and left with a nifty coffee mug printed with a picture of his own brain.

But since returning to campus as a professor, he hadn’t given them a second thought. 

He hadn’t needed the cash, and he hadn’t had the spare time or the interest or any sort of inclination to learn more.

Until now, apparently.

Blaine frowned at his computer screen, eyes scanning the page with an overview of the study, statistics and goals and guidelines and everything else, all revolving around one phrase - the _seven year itch._

The desire, the wonder, the nagging questions at the back of one’s mind.

_What if I had married someone else?_

_What if everything were different?_

_Would I be happier?_

He had heard of it, of course, referenced in movies, hinted at by older friends of his, even taunted by his own family about his own marriage, particularly his brother.

_Feeling the itch yet, Blaine?_

No - he _wasn’t,_ and he wasn’t going to. He was fine, and _they_ were fine. 

As much of a secret romantic Blaine had always been, whether he was actually _good_ with romance or not, he had attempted to maintain at least a shred of realism. The honeymoon phase was real, and it was called a phase for a reason - it didn’t last, and it wasn’t meant to, but that was okay.

The important part was that they _had_ one at all.

And they did.

Even years later, Blaine kept the fond memories of meeting his husband - for the second time - close to his chest.

Going out to his favorite gay bar just because he was bored, feeling unsure when he realized it was country night, staying regardless because he just felt like he _should._

Seeing him across the dance floor, a smile, a wave, a _hey, it’s been awhile,_ reminiscing about high school, catching up, talking and laughing and more talking.

And that was pretty much it.

It was easy, and it always had been, and he felt like it always would be - light, predictable, truly just _easy._ There weren’t _sparks_ necessarily, no huge eruption of passion or crackling electricity or intoxicating magnetism between them, but they had always made each other happy enough.

So why was Blaine so _curious,_ drawn further and further into the intricacies of the experiment as he learned about them?

 _Applicant questionnaires will be used to determine compatibility of participants and identify lacking areas in existing marriages,_ the website read. _Couples will be paired up according to potential ability to fulfill determined lacking areas, and partners will be switched to form what will be referred to as “experimental spouses” for the duration of the study._

_Experimental spouses are to coexist and cohabitate, functioning as if living in a domestic partnership in one partner’s household for the span of one week in an attempt to discover how stepping outside a relationship with the intention of strengthening it may affect its integrity and solidity, be it positively or negatively._

_Evidence will be collected through pre- and post-experiment questionnaires and interviews in order to determine the validity of the proverbial “seven year itch” and the results of temporarily giving into the age-old wonderings of whether the grass is greener on the other side._

It _was_ an interesting idea - potentially eligible participant or not, Blaine couldn’t ignore that. 

Relationships were complicated, and they ebbed and flowed, and they took _work,_ and that had always intrigued him, somehow. He _liked_ the idea of putting in work to keep someone happy, to keep something he cared about afloat - it was the same reason why he put so much effort into his work, into maintaining and motivating and _improving_ his studio of musical theater majors, year after year.

But as much as Blaine loved NYU, and as much as he loved teaching, he had experienced a professional “itch” of his own in his third year, culminating in a brief semester-long sabbatical to further invest in his own musical theater career, taking Broadway auditions and attempting _that_ side of the coin.

It hadn’t panned out, hadn’t resulted in anything, but that was fine.

He scratched the itch, and he got a taste of it, and at the end of the semester, he went back to NYU, back to the musical theater program, back to where he _belonged,_ returning with a greater appreciation for his work than ever.

Maybe this study was the same thing, and maybe it would end the same way. Maybe _they_ would be better for it, ready to settle in for good and tackle the rest of their lives together.

Maybe.

Scrolling past the basic demographic information requests, Blaine let out a shaky breath as he read the beginnings of the interview questions, suddenly all too aware of the ring on his finger.

_On a scale of 1-10, rank your current satisfaction level in your marriage._

_What would be required of your marriage to increase your satisfaction level? What would be required of your partner?_

Blaine had never thought to check in with himself, had never thought to ask, to _wonder._

They didn’t fight, and he had always championed that in his mind as a marker of a successful relationship - there was no resentment, no barriers, nothing built up between them. 

But was he _satisfied?_ Was he truly _happy?_

Did he make his husband happy, or had they just become complacent?

He suddenly couldn’t remember the same time they went out together, just the two of them, without his husband’s friends. He couldn’t remember the last date night, the last home cooked meal shared over candlelight, the last time they had fallen asleep together or even slept in the same _bed._

He suddenly _wanted_ all of that, so badly, and as crazy and extreme as it sounded, the study seemed like a real, possible option to get it back.

Maybe they _should_ do it.

* * *

Kurt was exhausted.

He was exhausted, and he was stressed, and he was tightly-wound and drained all at once, and he was far too busy to do anything about it.

Sitting in the back of the stiflingly-crowded subway at rush hour, he was struggling to even find relief in being done for the day, in going back to his apartment, back to his husband.

Most days, the guilt for that weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it was an impossible feeling, being equal parts stressed at work and home.

But more often than not, he was just going through the motions, pulled along a tether directed by the people around him without regard for his own hopes, dreams, _desires._

There was no place for them, not anymore - he had learned that the hard way, after one too many failed auditions, one too many embarrassing rejections, long past the age where he should have realistically thrown in the towel for good.

At nearly 30 years old, Kurt figured that was just how it was supposed to be. He was settled, and he was stable, and he had a steady income through a job in a field he had always wanted to be in, at his alma mater, no less. He had the stylish New York loft apartment with the balcony and the big closet, and he had the ring on his finger, and he had the husband at home and the memories of the extravagant wedding they shared together, to boot.

And if he wondered _what if,_ what if he had trained harder in school, what if he _had_ stretched himself thinner for more auditions, what if he kept pushing for his dreams instead of making the _smart_ choice, what if he had married someone else - _so what?_

It wasn’t like any of it could change, not after it all having been the same for so long.

It wasn’t like Kurt felt strong enough to even _handle_ the change, if something were to happen.

Everything was fine, and everything would stay fine, and everything would _be_ fine - for as far into the future as he dared to imagine, which admittedly wasn’t far.

But there was no point in imagining.

He was stable, and he was steady, and he was secure, and living in the present moment was all he needed to do.

And if Kurt spent every subway ride home mentally preparing himself to walk into a suffocatingly quiet apartment, to cook enough dinner for two but automatically package half for the fridge, to pull out his assignments and grade and plan instead of sharing about his day with someone, to climb into bed to wait and find out if he would be falling asleep alone or if he would be fucked into the mattress without a greeting or a question or a word, well - that was just part of it all.

Kurt was fine, and everything was fine, because everything was stable and predictable and the same as it ever was, which meant there was no problem, nothing wrong.

As long as everything stayed the same, it was fine.

And then he unlocked and opened his door to find his husband sitting at the set kitchen table, spread with a home cooked dinner, lit candles and all, and it was different.

It was out of the ordinary, immediately setting Kurt’s delicately-arranged routine askew, and it was just _different_ \- _too_ different.

It was the last thing Kurt could have expected.

He was instantly suspicious, hackles raised and on edge, immediately needing to know the _reason_ for all of it, because there had to be one.

Because his husband wouldn’t have done this on his own for the sheer sake of _doing_ it, not anymore, and he hadn’t for years.

“Um, hi,” Kurt started tentatively, hanging his messenger bag and toeing off his shoes before slowly making his way towards the table, avoiding looking at the overly sincere smile plastered on his husband’s face. “Did...someone die? Are _you_ dying?”

“No, Kurt- C’mon, no one is dying. Just...sit?”

Drawing a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, Kurt slowly sunk into the chair across from his husband at the table, looking down at the setting in front of him.

A vibrant, green salad, what looked like his favorite mustard-glazed chicken, a generously poured glass of wine…

It looked _good._

But quickly, Kurt noticed there was something else - a neatly stapled bundle of papers, tucked slightly under his plate.

Oh _god._

He blinked slowly at the paper, too far away for his tired eyes to read, desperately wracking his brain to figure out what they could _be._

Did his husband want a divorce? _No, he wouldn’t. He needs you, you both know that._

Were they papers from a doctor’s appointment - a diagnosis, maybe? A treatment plan? _No, he said no one was dying._

A teeny, tiny voice nagged at the back of Kurt’s mind, overly hopeful, barely audible, straining to be heard, to be considered, pushed down as quickly as it arose.

Was it an adoption application? Was he finally ready? _No. No, nope. No._

He couldn’t let himself go there, couldn’t let himself get his hopes up, not again.

“I, um, picked that packet up from the psychology department today. They’re looking for married couples for a, uh. A research study.”

Kurt jerked up his head to look at his husband, shaken from the concentric circles of his reeling mind, instantly flooded by a wash of relief-annoyance-confusion, _so_ much confusion.

“Um… Okay?” 

“Just… Read it, please? I don’t want to explain it wrong.”

Carefully, he lifted the page, halfway expecting some silly student research study, just like all the rest of them - not understanding the big deal, not understanding why it mattered, why it somehow seemed so ominous and foreboding and _important._

The further he read, the more he went numb.

The academic jargon ran together, but words like _unhappy, complacent, recommitment, separation,_ and of course, the king of them all, _seven year itch_ jumped out at him, stabbing at him like a personal attack, right in the gut.

They were looking for participants - for married couples that felt _stuck,_ whose spark had died out, who were with one another out of convenience and routine over love and passion and _commitment_ for the sake of it, who wondered what it would be like if they were with someone else.

It was him, and it was _them, exactly_ them, but that didn’t matter, and neither did the fact that Kurt wondered nearly every day _what if,_ what if he were with someone else, what if he lived a completely different life, _would he be happier?_

It didn’t matter that the study offered Kurt an _answer_ to his questions, a temporary, harmless, week-long glance _into_ that other life, into what could have been.

It didn’t matter that Kurt was instantly a little curious about who he would be matched with, what type of person would be deemed compatible, how they might be better - no, just _different -_ in comparison to his own husband, the man he was meant to be committed to forever.

None of it mattered, because the fact that it came from said husband made it all feel like a harsh slap in the face.

Because that meant his husband wondered, too. It meant Kurt wasn’t good enough, and it meant that there was a very real possibility that, if they got a taste of what life was like without one another, and if they _liked_ that taste, his carefully-constructed life could all fall apart.

After all these years, Kurt wasn’t strong enough to handle change - he just wasn’t.

But it was a sobering reminder that his husband had autonomy, and he had the power to _evoke_ change if he wanted to, whether Kurt was ready for it or not.

“No,” he said immediately, voice cold, steady despite the instant churning in his stomach. “I’m not doing this. There’s no fucking way.”

“Look, love, I think it could be good for us. Just hear me out, I-”

“I don’t care,” Kurt snapped, shoving himself away from the table and standing up, dinner be damned. “I don’t need you to- to state your case or whatever you’re trying to do. It’s stupid, and it’s illegitimate reserach, and I’m not wasting my time. It’s a recipe for disaster, and you know it.”

“Kurt, _please,_ just- Just sit. At least look at me for a second?”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Kurt righted his posture in an attempt to center himself, to school his face into a neutral expression before opening his eyes again, fixing them on his husband, who looked _tired,_ vulnerable, almost, in a way Kurt had seen once, maybe twice before in all of their years of being together.

Shit.

He really meant it - really _wanted_ them to do this.

Unable to help but soften a little, Kurt let out a heavy sigh but refused to sit back down, refused to give in completely, instead leaning his forearms against the back of the chair, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you expect to- to get from this?” he finally asked, as much testing his husband as he was throwing him a bone.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

_Find out. You have to know. Defend yourself._

“Well, um. I just thought it would help us regain an appreciation for each other. I-If you read the information, they’re theorizing that shaking up our routines will bring us closer together, and I just thought you could do with something to make you feel a little more grateful for the things I-”

“Great, so this is on _me,”_ Kurt interjected coldly, shoving the chair out from under his arms and sending it crashing loudly into the table as anger immediately bubbled inside him, broken trust, _offense_. “Even though _I’m_ the one that makes more of the money, and _I’m_ the one that cooks and cleans and is _home_ every night, regardless of where _you_ might be. Our problems are all _my_ fault. Well thanks, _babe,_ that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“Kurt, that’s not what I meant, I-”

“Save it,” Kurt snapped, looking away, looking at anywhere _but_ his husband, looking desperately for a lifeline, for a way to hold himself together. “I’ll do your bullshit experiment. It’ll be a fucking vacation compared to having to see _you_ every night, not that you’re even really around anymore.”

He had to be defensive, had to attack, had to keep his guard up, had to do anything to block out the fear insistently growing in his mind, in his twisting stomach, all through his body. Caving, agreeing, _doing_ it meant _change,_ and change meant potential failure, and even though it was a taste of exactly what Kurt had been wondering about for years, he wasn’t fully ready to risk it.

Because it was a temporary change that came with the all too plausible threat of a bigger one, that came with too much unknown, not enough guaranteed, _nothing_ guaranteed, and that terrified him.

He had been burned one too many times before.

“Just- I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right, but- I-I promise you, it’ll be good, just- just trust me. I _love_ you, sweetheart, and I know I-I’m not always the best at showing it, but I _do.”_

_I promise._

_Trust me._

_I love you._

_Sweetheart._

God, when was the last time Kurt had heard those words - heard any of it, anything close to it?

He couldn’t remember.

Instead of feeling them, instead of _believing_ them, he just felt more _angry,_ felt more justified for all of it, felt like he was about to come out of his skin.

Because it wasn’t genuine, offered out of passion or love or _just because._

It was out of pity, a tool pulled out of the box in an attempt to get Kurt to bend when he was already on the verge of breaking, a weird, twisted olive branch that he wanted nothing to do with.

Each word felt like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t do this right now,” he managed, voice coming out shakier than he intended, than he ever wanted it to. “I-I’ll do the stupid test, just-”

“Eat with me? Please? I put in all of this work to cook for you...”

That was it.

Kurt was done with all of it, the manipulation and the guilt-tripping and the _fear,_ the unknown, the increasingly-pressing questions he wasn’t ready to confront. 

He was just _done,_ and he couldn’t face his husband for another moment, couldn’t face the papers on the table or the dinner or the wine or the candles or _any_ of it.

“Stop fucking _pushing_ me, Adam!” Kurt shouted, and he had to go, get away, _leave, run._

Instead of doing any of that, he shoved past the dinner table and into their bedroom, promptly locking the door behind him, shutting out his husband, shutting out his job and his marriage and his _everything,_ crumpling against the wall until he could breathe again.

* * *

It was Thursday, and Thursdays meant Blaine wasn’t in charge of dinner, which most likely meant greasy takeout on the couch in front of the TV, watching football together with his husband.

Typically, Blaine didn’t mind it - it was harmless, easy, a relaxing little indulgence towards the end of a busy work week. But if sports were on the TV, Dave’s eyes were glued to it, and, for once, Blaine needed his attention.

As predictable as his husband typically was, for once, Blaine wasn’t sure how he would react.

The more he thought about the research study, though, the more he wanted to do it, the more he genuinely thought it would _help._ It would give them the motivation to _improve_ things, like eating dinner in front of the TV, which was all well and good, but so much of their marriage felt like a friendship, more and more as the days, the weeks, the years passed.

And he wanted a husband.

It took until halftime for Blaine to work up the nerve to bring it up, having been aimlessly digging his chopsticks through a carton of lo mein for the better part of an hour.

“I saw a flyer on the message board at school today,” he blurted out lamely, wincing at his own lack of tact and discretion. 

Dave just hummed in a wordless acknowledgement, eyes glued to the first-half recap on the screen until a commercial broke, and then he turned to Blaine, face effortlessly open and ready for anything, just the way he always was.

Surely he would be open to this, too - Blaine hoped.

“The psych department is doing a study,” he continued, thumbing nervously over the edge of the takeout container in his lap. “And they’re, uh, looking for married couples to participate.”

“You want to do it,” Dave said calmly, impartially. It wasn’t a question, and it didn’t need to be. Everything was always easy with him, every conversation reaching a solution, each word holding as much weight as it was meant to, never taken out of context, never evoking anger.

Sometimes, a selfish, perhaps theatrical little part of Blaine almost wished he _would_ react, get a little angry and heated about something other than sports, _anything,_ but it was a desire he always nipped in the bud.

Seeking out a challenge where there wasn’t one was silly, could be detrimental, even.

“I do,” he admitted simply instead of poking, instead of provoking. “It sounds intense, and it involves us, um, living with other people for a week. But at the end of it, it’s meant to bring us closer together, and I-I’d like that, I think.”

“Aw, I’d like that, too, Bear,” Dave cooed, reaching over to give Blaine’s knee a gentle squeeze.

The tone, the nickname, the little pat - it all made Blaine feel small, silly, childlike, just like it always did, in a way his husband would never intend, a way Dave would never want him to feel, a way he would feel guilty for if he knew.

But it was Dave’s way of trying, and so Blaine let him do it, tried to take it for what it was worth.

After all, he was _agreeing,_ and he wasn’t mad or upset or offended, and he was giving Blaine what he wanted - _supporting_ it, even.

Leaning slightly into his husband, forcing a smile, Blaine tried to make himself feel grateful for that, tried to tell himself that it was just because they were so in sync, because they got each other so well. He tried to push away the questions, just like he always did, the fears that they were _missing_ something.

Why didn’t Dave at least _question_ why Blaine was interested in living with someone else for a week, in stripping away their routines and changing it all up? 

Didn’t it imply that Blaine was unhappy, or at least not entirely _satisfied -_ didn’t Dave notice, didn’t he _care?_

Didn’t Dave want to know the details - what his responsibilities were, the role he would play, what he would have to do and when and _why?_

Wasn’t it a big deal - or at the very least, not a _small_ one?

Yet he had agreed so quickly, like it was as commonplace or routine as anything else could be, and if it was what Blaine wanted to do, they would do it, simple as that.

Everything was so easy - but sometimes, a small, strange part of Blaine couldn’t help but wish it weren't.

He wasn’t sure what that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, I did a bunch of psych studies in college and did in fact get an MRI for one and got a coffee mug with a scan of my brain on it! 
> 
> now that the scene is set, let me know what you think :-)


	2. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, welcome to chapter two! thanks for all your great comments on the first one, I hope you enjoy it :-)

In the end, Kurt was the one to fill out the bulk of his and Adam’s application for the research study, because of course he was - he was the one to do everything.

If it weren’t for each of them needing to answer their own sets of specific questions in order to gauge their individual compatibility with others, Kurt knew all too well he would have ended up doing the entire thing - but either way, he was pressured into doing the brunt of the work regarding something he was _also_ pressured into in the first place, and he couldn’t help but feel just a _little_ resentful for that.

Thus, he didn’t hold back on his answers - not that they were truly _that_ spiteful.

He was just honest in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

Kurt wrote about looking for someone considerate, someone caring, someone thoughtful - all the things Adam hadn’t been in years, all the things he had once attributed to just fading away because they were settling into their routine.

If he had a chance to experience something - and someone - _good,_ at least for a week, Kurt was going to go all the way.

If Adam had hurt him in his attempt to do, well, whatever he was trying to do, Kurt was going to find a way to come out on top.

And so he wrote about his lack of satisfaction, about how he would appreciate it if Adam spent more quality time with him, if Adam asked about his day more, if they could make more time and space for really _being_ together.

They were simple things, really, and Kurt wanted them desperately - wanted them with _Adam,_ ideally, regardless of how stale they had become, regardless of how far they had drifted apart. 

He tried not to think about how depressing that was.

He tried not to think about what Adam’s answers were, what Adam was wanting that Kurt wasn’t giving, what Adam was _missing_ from _him._ He wanted so badly to read Adam’s part of the application, but he didn’t - it felt like a breach of trust, of his own moral code.

And a small, unfortunate part of him was afraid of what Adam truly thought of him.

Kurt tried not to think about how his and Adam’s marriage was colder than ever, how Adam wasn’t even initiating sex anymore since their argument - even though it was the one thing that had always remained steady and constant between them, whether Kurt had actively wanted it or not.

Instead, Kurt poured himself into his work, just like he always did, championing his students and pushing them harder and pulling the music right out of them, coming home and grading and planning and even working on his own solos when he was able to channel his energy into a rare spark of delusional confidence, and he wasn’t even fazed when the email came - they were accepted.

He breezed through the preliminary interview, more of a verbal rehashing of his questionnaire responses than anything else, not necessarily thinking about what it all meant, just checking it off his to-do list and moving on.

The reality didn’t set in until Kurt was cleaning their apartment the weekend before and realized he would have to open up his home and his space and his _life_ to a complete and utter stranger, allowing someone to cook in his kitchen and shower in his shower and - god forbid - maybe even sleep in his _bed,_ all for the sake of a collegiate psychological experiment.

Kurt would officially be spending a week - his spring break week, to be exact - without his husband, acting as if he were married to someone else, and Adam would be doing the same.

He didn’t want to live with a stranger. He didn’t want to essentially share his husband with someone else, and he didn’t want to confront the potential issues the whole mess would stir up, and he didn’t want to spend his spring break dealing with all of it when he _should_ have been relaxing, unwinding and preparing for the end-of-semester push.

Kurt’s one stipulation had been that _he_ would be the one to stay in their apartment - if Adam was forcing them to do this, then Adam would have to be the one to leave for the week.

He thought it meant Adam would be more put out, more inconvenienced, but the more Kurt cleaned their apartment, and the more he attempted to visualize someone else in _his_ _space,_ the less he wanted it.

At first, the desperate need to remain on his own turf felt like the only way to stay in control _,_ but he hadn’t quite realized what that meant.

After carefully, steadfastly keeping his guard up for years, Kurt was no longer sure he was even capable of letting it down anymore in order to allow someone in, even temporarily, even for the sake of fixing his marriage.

But he had to try, had to remain in control as much as he could, had to _prove_ himself, prove _something -_ what, though, he wasn’t sure.

* * *

Blaine ended up taking longer than he’d like to admit on his application for the psychology study, spending more than one late evening holed up in his office, perfecting the details, making sure they looked like ideal candidates, that he and Dave were both expressing exactly what they needed in order to get the most out of the program.

Yes, it was a collegiate-level experiment, run largely by undergraduate psych majors, but it still had weight to it, still had potential, and the guidelines were relatively loose and flexible. Blaine knew all too well that it was just like anything else - he would get out of it just as much as he put into it.

So he wanted to give it his all, wanted good results for a better future for him, for Dave, for their marriage.

Surprisingly, Dave got invested in their application, too. Blaine had offered to go through it together a final time one evening, on the off chance that his husband would be interested, and he _was._

They reviewed the questions honestly, and though they didn’t talk about how to improve, not yet, it still opened the door for more communication between them, to build and repair and _grow._ Dave read Blaine’s words - about wanting to be more intimate, wanting to connect and spend more quality time together, wanting to feel like a family instead of roommates - and Blaine felt _okay_ with that.

It felt like it was a sign that they were _already_ improving, at least in baby steps.

It was the most time they had spent together - just the two of them, working towards a common goal - in months, if not years, and it left Blaine feeling optimistic, like he was making the right choice for them by trying.

And then they got accepted, and after getting through their interviews, Blaine knew, deep in his gut, that it _was_ right.

The study lined up with Blaine’s spring break, but it meant Dave would have to use over half of his carefully-accumulated vacation days at work, and Blaine felt guilty for that. It was a sacrifice - they were days typically used for visiting family back in Ohio over the holidays, plus a boys’ trip or two out of the city, things they both looked forward to every year.

But somehow, ever gracious, ever understanding, Dave hadn’t minded, reassuring him that it was worth it for them, for their future.

It was an allowance Blaine wasn’t sure he deserved.

Either way, Blaine was determined to make the most of it. He wasn’t sure who he would be matched up with, but he had always prided himself on his friendliness, on his ability to get along with everyone.

Well - almost everyone.

Regardless of who he was slated to spend the week with, Blaine was ready to make a good first impression. He hoped to win over an ally in the midst of their unusual situation, have a little fun hanging out with and getting to know someone new, and maybe he would even get a friend out of it all, in the end.

But still, in the back of his mind, he was nervous. 

The researchers had warned them that there _was_ at least a small possibility one of them would prefer his new, temporary life over the one they had built together. It could be Dave, and self-assured confidence aside, it could just as likely be Blaine.

There was no guarantee that the study would help at all - it could cause more fights, could drive a rift between them, could unearth differences that were just too far on the wrong side of irreconcilable. 

It could even set them down the path to divorce.

But instead of lingering on the remote possibilities of it all going wrong, Blaine put potentially blind faith in his optimism, in the validity of the experiment, in his marriage.

He decided to put just as much faith in his anonymous, temporary partner, too - and achieving success all started with that first impression.

More specifically, it started with his _appearance -_ with the first glimpse his experimental spouse would get of him, from his posture to his hair to his clothes to what he held in his arms.

On the first day of the experiment, Blaine took his time picking out his best-fitting pants, a shirt that brought out the green tones in his eyes, his nicest shoes, even his favorite bowtie to finish off the look.

He took his time packing, too, a variety of outfits for a variety of situations - a recommendation of the study was to try out one another’s favorite activities and pastimes, and Blaine wanted to be ready for anything. 

On his side of things, he couldn’t help but hope his experimental spouse liked music, something he had never been able to truly share with his husband, something Dave had never quite _understood._

But Blaine and his experimental spouse were meant to be compatible, after all, in ways that he wasn’t with his own husband - not intended to be better, not intended to be worse, just different.

He felt nervous, of course, but he was a little bit excited, too, despite himself.

He was hopeful.

Finally, as a last minute addition, Blaine took his time at the grocer’s he passed on the way to the address he was given, leaving with a fresh bouquet of a variety of colorful flowers and a smooth, full-bodied bottle of red wine.

He wasn’t intending to make it romantic, wasn’t even intending to ask to share the wine, but he was nothing if not polite. He was imposing, after all, essentially inviting himself into a stranger’s home for an entire week - the least he could do was bring a gift.

And then Blaine found himself standing in front of a nondescript apartment door, luggage at his feet, flowers and brown paper bagged bottle wine in his arms, just moments away from embarking on a weeklong journey he never could have predicted for himself, a journey he desperately hoped would put him - _them -_ on the right path. 

The last thing left for him to do was knock, and so he did, butterflies swirling in his stomach.

“Hi,” he greeted hopefully as the door swung open, shifting the bouquet of flowers in his arms, though he froze as he got a glimpse of who was on the other side, his blood instantly running cold. _No way._ “Wait, _Kurt?”_

“Oh, no. Nope, nope, nope. No _fucking_ way.”

* * *

Somebody had a prolonged, dark, _evil_ vendetta against Kurt Hummel.

It was the only thing that made sense - either that or he was tragically unlucky, or he had done something horribly, horribly wrong, perhaps in a past life, and the universe was conspiring against him.

Regardless, he was on the fast track to hell, if he wasn’t there already.

There was no other possible reason why _Blaine Anderson_ was standing in his front doorway, a bright-eyed expression on his punchable face, obnoxious luggage placed neatly just against his dumb legs, stupid flowers and what looked like a bottle of _wine_ in his hands, because _of course_ he brought wine, he _never_ did anything halfway, _never_ knew when to stop and leave him _alone._

Had Blaine somehow _known?_

It didn’t matter.

There was no way he was letting Blaine in. There was no conceivable _way_ he was letting Blaine into his apartment, into his mind, into his _life_ for the next week.

Two minutes into the godforsaken psychology study and he was throwing in the towel, signed contract and promises to his husband be damned, because there was _no fucking way_.

“I, wow,” Blaine laughed shakily, fidgeting by shifting back and forth, just enough to be noticable - left foot, right foot, back to the left, back to the right. 

Kurt wanted to slap him.

“Yeah, no. I’m dropping out,” he decided, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I mean what, is this some kind of sick joke? Do you find this _funny?”_

Blaine gaped at him, ridiculously-shaped eyebrows practically at his hairline, and the look on his face would have been funny if Kurt weren’t so _pissed._

“You think- You think I _knew?_ I mean _really,_ Kurt, you can’t possibly think I’m thrilled to see you, either.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him, trying to size him up, figure him out. 

Blaine _did_ look just as confused and shocked as Kurt felt, if not irritated, too. And he was all dressed up, had his bags packed, had even come bearing gifts, the whole nine yards. 

He really went all out.

But no.

There was no possible reason why the study should have decided they would go well together - sure, they were both musical theater professors at high-level schools, but aside from their jobs, they were anything _but_ compatible. There must have been a flaw in the system, an oversight, or a mix-up in assignments, perhaps.

It wasn’t going to work.

“For all I know, this is some big plan of yours. I have no reason to trust you,” Kurt huffed, stepping back to allow Blaine inside, although he wasn’t sure why he did. He knew he was pushing, and he knew he was being a little unfair, but he couldn’t let himself give up, give in, let his guard down - not for the experiment, not for his own husband, _especially_ not for _Blaine._

“This may come as a surprise,” Blaine said bitterly, struggling to pull his suitcases inside - the wheels caught on the threshold, but Kurt made no movement to help. “But I actually have my own life, you know, and I’m doing fine on my own. I don’t spend all my time thinking about _you_ , because, seriously, why would I? Don’t flatter yourself.”

Great.

Blaine, _perfect_ Blaine, all-star professional Blaine Anderson was doing _fine,_ bigger and better than Kurt, just like he always was, just like he constantly made sure he always would be.

They didn’t know each other well, all things considered, but Blaine knew _exactly_ how to get under Kurt’s skin without fail, in every single unfortunate interaction they had shared in the past handful of years.

“You sure seem to love showing up every _fucking_ time I try to get ahead,” Kurt snapped, his voice getting louder, embarrassingly higher, more strained. “I mean really, what a coincidence, right? Poaching my students, stealing my auditions, and now what, trying to infiltrate my entire _life?_ What do you _want_ from me? My apartment, my job, my-”

“Will you just shut up for a second?!”

Kurt froze, chest heaving, face hot and flushed. He felt wild, out of control, full of anger for the situation and his marriage and his _life,_ directing it at Blaine, the easy target, always Blaine. 

But he was instantly stunned by Blaine’s shouting, further so as he truly looked at him for the first time. There was an uncanny exhaustion right alongside the fire in Blaine’s eyes, hinting at so much more, at deeper things about him and his life that Kurt never wanted to know. 

The only thing he _didn’t_ despise about Blaine is that Blaine had always let Kurt yell, complain, accuse, had always taken it like a champ.

Until now, and on Kurt’s domain, at that.

He didn’t know what to make of it, of _Blaine._

“Look,” Blaine sighed after a long moment of tense silence, shifting the load in his arms uncomfortably - gifts for him, Kurt’s mind unhelpfully supplied, though he shoved the thought away quickly. “Believe it or not, but I’m here for me and my husband. I wanted this chance to fix my _own_ life, not to ruin yours, okay? I-I know it’s not ideal, and if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. I get it. But I...I’d appreciate a little chance.”

Kurt watched him carefully for a moment, surprised - both at Blaine’s sudden honesty and his own apparent willingness to listen, to _consider._

He had no idea where that came from.

But no.

He had spent _years_ despising Blaine, upholding their theatrical, petty rivalry, and Kurt was not about to undo the careful work he had put into building up his walls, protecting himself, all because Blaine was suddenly open and honest and raw and looking so strangely _small_ in his living room.

He didn’t care about Blaine’s life, about Blaine’s marriage, about _Blaine,_ period, outside of the musical theater world, and that wasn’t about to change.

It couldn’t.

If he stayed, if he agreed, he was letting Blaine win. He was letting Blaine in, and he was committing to letting his guard down, and he would be quickly encroaching on dangerous territory.

But if he dropped out, he was a failure - a failure to the psychology department, a failure to his husband, a failure in front of Blaine, the one person that could never see Kurt broken.

Suddenly, everything became far too much, and Kurt was completely and utterly overwhelmed by all of it, and he had to go, get away, _leave, run._

He couldn’t. He couldn’t run, and he couldn’t decide, and he couldn’t think.

But he could hide.

“I-I can’t do this right now. Just...don’t fucking steal anything,” Kurt managed before rushing off into his bedroom, locking the door behind him and shutting everything out, shutting _Blaine_ out, the exact same way he’d shut out Adam, the exact same way he wanted to shut out the world, time and time again.

But this time, he managed to make it to his bed before crumbling under the weight of his own weakness, his cowardice, his impending failure, the impossible position he was in.

He knew he had to find a way to stop hiding.

He just didn’t know how.

* * *

Blaine wasn’t sure how long he stood frozen in the living room, distrusting of the silence that settled uncomfortably around him, waiting for something that likely wasn’t coming.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours.

He felt like he was in the eye of a storm, only halfway through the whirlwind he had pulled himself into, waiting on edge for the other shoe to drop, to be sucked back in again.

But somehow, he didn’t want to leave.

A small part of him simply didn’t want to give Kurt the satisfaction - if Blaine gave up so quickly, it would be over, and nothing would change. 

Another part of him hoped he could use the week to win Kurt over, to put their silly rivalry and complicated history to rest, to start fresh and find a middle ground and maybe even learn to be friends - or at least reach neutral territory.

Blaine had meant it, though, when he said he didn’t spend his days thinking about Kurt, didn’t have some master plan to ruin his life, didn’t even really give him too much thought when they weren’t forced to be in the same environment due to a networking function or audition date or work event.

The truth was, he wasn’t even sure how it had all started. He didn’t even remember meeting Kurt, particularly - he only knew that every time their paths had crossed in the better part of the last decade, Kurt inevitably threw him glares, snarky comments, low digs. 

But at the end of the day, underneath it all, he didn’t _hate_ Kurt, had no real reason to, despite Kurt's obvious feelings towards him. Blaine didn’t even really know the guy outside of the theater realm.

He was there for his marriage, and he was there for his husband, and he couldn’t give up on that.

It was his idea in the first place, after all.

And so everything else came secondary, Kurt included - so Blaine decided not to leave.

Instead, he busied himself with trimming the stems off the flowers he had brought, finding a vase in the kitchen cabinets, filling it with water, displaying the flowers awkwardly on the kitchen table, feeling more invasive than ever-

And killing all of three minutes.

Blaine let out a deep, heavy sigh, suddenly feeling like he hadn’t breathed in hours. He had no idea if or when Kurt was going to come back out, if Kurt was expecting him to stay or leave, how Kurt was going to react when he _did_ reemerge - because he had to eventually.

Right?

Either way, Blaine needed to stay - he had to try for himself, for Dave, even for Kurt.

Because Kurt must have had a reason to sign up for the study, too, and the questionnaire results _did_ mark them compatible, and Blaine couldn’t help but wonder if they had more in common than either of them realized. 

With nothing to do, nowhere to go, and not even anywhere to _be,_ Blaine wasn’t sure what to do. He had even turned in his phone to the psych department in exchange for a basic flip phone for emergencies in order to maintain the no-contact agreement with Dave that the study required, meaning he had no one to talk to, no work emails to check, not even a silly app to play with.

He was supposed to be completely focused on his experimental spouse - but that clearly wasn’t happening, and he was unsure if it ever would.

Instead, Blaine was on edge, and he was confused, and he was _bored._

He took a moment to look around the apartment, taking in his temporary home, looking for any clues to get to know Kurt - still his experimental spouse, he hoped - better.

It was clean, _really_ clean, bordering on staged, like something out of a magazine. It didn’t look homey, and it didn’t look particularly lived in, but it looked polished and put together, just like Kurt always did.

It didn’t give him much to go off of.

The apartment was spacious, and Blaine couldn’t help but wonder if Kurt and his husband had managed to snag a spot with two bedrooms - he knew it took him and Dave months of scouring apartment listings to find one in their budget, which was only as high as it was due to Dave’s salary.

He wondered what Kurt’s husband was like, what led them to the experiment, whose idea it was.

He wondered what Kurt was like under the surface, what he was like there at home, in the quiet moments, what he was like around people he didn’t hate, people he didn’t feel threatened by.

And suddenly, Blaine felt like he had done more than enough wondering.

In need of a distraction, he ended up pulling a random book off of the full-yet-organized bookshelf in the living room, sinking onto the deceptively comfortable couch and promptly losing himself in the story. 

Somehow, he didn’t emerge from its pages until his stomach growled - an hour later, maybe even two.

 _God,_ he was hungry, and, especially considering he hadn’t heard a peep from Kurt, he had no business rooting through the kitchen - but food was the great equalizer, wasn’t it?

Offering dinner was the least he could do.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Blaine got up and found his way down the hallway, to a closed door he assumed must be Kurt’s bedroom - and he knocked.

“Um, Kurt?” he called softly, leaning his temple against the door, listening for any sign of life. “You want me to order some food?”

 _It’s my peace offering,_ he pleaded silently, nerves swirling in his stomach. _Please take it. I need you to._

There was quiet in response, and it stayed quiet, long enough for Blaine to raise his knuckles to knock again, but then the door slowly pulled open, and Kurt was there.

He had obviously just woken up, his eyes bleary and unfocused, hair ruffled and flat on one side of his head, mouth smacking softly once, twice, three times.

He looked so different, so young, so _human._

Seeing Kurt like this felt like a privilege, a right he hadn’t earned, something few people had ever gotten to see, something he wasn’t quite ready to see.

Blaine was more struck by it - by _him -_ than he should have been.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, shoving down the strange thoughts, the odd feelings that threatened. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you, I just-”

“‘S fine,” Kurt mumbled, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “You said food?”

Letting out a shaky breath, Blaine nodded, offering him a tiny, polite smile.

“I’ll buy, um. Whatever you want. It’s the least I can do.”

“You’re right. It _is_ the least you can do,” Kurt said quickly, though, for once, there was no heat in it.

Maybe they stood a chance.

The potentially futile hope was just enough to carry Blaine through as Kurt awkwardly excused himself to freshen up, as they awkwardly settled on Thai food, as they awkwardly set the table as they waited - awkward, awkward, awkward.

All of it.

Kurt was quiet, and part of Blaine wondered what he was thinking, how he was feeling. Either way, at least they weren’t arguing, and they weren’t biting each other’s heads off, either.

They were coexisting.

It was progress - and Blaine didn’t take that lightly.

It wasn’t until their food had arrived and they were seated at the table across from one another, eating quietly and avoiding each other’s eyes, that Blaine worked up the courage to attempt conversation.

“So, um,” he began tentatively, twirling the noodles of his pad thai around his fork. “How long have you and your husband been married?”

“Almost five years,” Kurt replied coolly, sitting up a little straighter, righting his chin a little higher - just enough to be noticeable, just enough to make Blaine nervous. “We waited awhile.”

He felt like he was walking a tightrope of his own creation, just a faint whisper of wind away from stumbling and bringing it all crashing down, pulling himself down right along with it.

He had to tread lightly.

“Oh,” he said simply, filling his mouth with a bite of food to forcibly stop the pressing questions from spilling out. 

How long did they wait, and why? How old was Kurt, exactly, and was his husband older? How long did they date before getting married?

Blaine wanted to know everything, and he felt like they _should_ share, should attempt to communicate and talk through some of their issues if either of them hoped to grow from the study. 

He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and Kurt seemed in no hurry to continue the conversation, so Blaine settled on what he hoped was another easy one.

“How did you meet?” he wanted to know, fidgeting with the napkin under his lap as he eyed Kurt nervously. 

“In college. Adam started an a capella group, and I joined it.” Kurt shrugged, as if it were everyday common knowledge - which Blaine supposed it sort of was, at least to Kurt.

Kurt wasn’t giving him much, but he was giving _something,_ and Blaine was trying desperately not to take it lightly.

“Oh, he’s a musician, then!” Blaine couldn’t help but light up at that, his interest piqued, even from the little material Kurt was offering him. “I always kind of wished Dave was more musical. We actually went to the same high school for a couple years, but we didn’t really know each other until I ran into him at-”

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

The question came out of nowhere, and it effectively startled Blaine into silence, his story falling dead in his throat.

He knew he had to answer, had to say _something -_ but what _was_ he trying to do?

Why did he feel the need to even bother trying when the odds of it working out were so infinitesimally low?

“I...I guess I was hoping we could get to know each other,” he admitted slowly after taking a breath to recover, feeling impossibly silly and naive but pushing through regardless. “I mean, if we’re- if we’re doing this, we should talk. So we can help each other, you know?”

Kurt lowered his eyes at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m not sure I’m quite at the point of needing _your_ help,” he chuckled humorlessly, leaning back in his chair. “But fine, I’ll bite. Try me.”

It didn’t feel like an attempt at compromise, and it didn’t feel like an open door, either, or anything close to it.

It felt like a test.

“Well, um,” Blaine swallowed thickly, forcing himself to push forward, to give him the benefit of the doubt and room to meet him halfway. “Can I ask why you guys are doing the study? Maybe we start there?”

_Please talk to me. I’ll gladly take anything you want to tell me._

“Why don’t you go first,” Kurt prompted, though he continued talking before Blaine had a chance to speak, to even consider an answer. The edge was back in his voice, and Blaine quickly felt it all spiral out of control, though he failed to muster the power to stop it. “Although I can probably guess. I can’t imagine being happily married to you, of all people. I mean, poor- Dave, was it? Yeah, poor old Dave. I guess the good thing is if he’s paired up with _my_ husband, Adam will come home realizing how good he has it with me, right?”

It was too much.

It was all too much, too fast, too out of the blue, though Blaine shouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest.

_Poor old Dave._

Blaine had been so stupid to hope, to ask, to _try._

In his naive attempt to wear down Kurt’s defenses, he had shattered his own armor entirely in the process, and he had nothing left, all at once.

And it was only day one.

“I get it, okay? I get it,” he said brokenly, pushing away from the table and standing up in a fluid motion, collecting his half-full plates all at once and looking anywhere but at the man across from him. “Can you just… Where am I supposed to sleep?”

He felt childish in his refusal to look up at Kurt again, afraid of his reaction, but he couldn’t show his own hurt, couldn’t let on about the stubborn, hot tears threatening to well in his eyes.

“I...Okay. Follow me.”

By some small mercy, there was a second bedroom, and Kurt led him to it without another word. It was uncomfortable, tension thick in the air, and Blaine chanced one little look at him, against his better judgement.

There was something in Kurt’s averted eyes that he had never seen before - something Blaine may have thought was uncertainty on any other person, or even guilt, perhaps.

But not on Kurt, and never towards Blaine. 

Instead of thanking him, or apologizing, or wishing him goodnight or anything else, Blaine merely closed the door behind him, leaving his suitcases untouched in favor of sinking into the bed. It was too early, and he knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He was exhausted in more ways than one, and he was at a loss for how to fix any of it.


	3. Day Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go...

An unsettling feeling crept into Kurt’s body as he cleaned up their half-eaten dinner, and it settled deep in his bones, twisting and rippling and poking at him over and over, never waning, never subsiding, leaving him confused and keeping him restless.

It wasn’t until he was lying in bed later that night, unable to sleep, staring up at the ceiling and willing his brain to shut off, that he realized what it was.

Guilt.

He wasn’t sure why he felt it. He didn’t _want_ to feel it. He had no _reason_ to feel it - he had done nothing wrong, after all. 

He had just been defending himself.

_Right?_

But nonetheless, Kurt couldn’t get Blaine’s dejected, hurt face out of his mind. It was there when he closed his eyes, there in the darkness when he opened them - everywhere.

He had been so suddenly confronted by Blaine’s utter humanity and vulnerability, two things he had never wanted to see, two things he had never wanted to consider.

For years, Blaine had merely been a competitor, a rival, a villain lurking in the shadows, always working against him, until suddenly he wasn’t. All at once, he was a fully dimensional _person -_ a hurting person, at that, putting himself out there for the sake of repairing his marriage, what was meant to be the most important relationship in his life. 

And he was one of the only people on the planet that could understand what Kurt was about to go through - in fact, they were meant to go through it _together,_ predetermined to supposedly be able to help one another more than anyone else _._

Kurt didn’t want Blaine’s help, and he sure as hell didn’t want to try to help Blaine.

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

But suddenly, he felt completely and utterly _guilty_ for that.

He wanted to hate Blaine for it, wanted to hate Blaine for getting to him, for working his way under Kurt’s skin in a matter of hours, but he couldn’t even manage that - not anymore.

Not after seeing the look on Blaine’s face when he really and truly gave up.

Deep down, Kurt knew he had been unfair - Blaine _had_ been trying, whether Kurt understood why or not, and Kurt had led him on by acting open to his questions, only to squish him like a bug. 

It was nothing new in theory, but behind closed doors, in Kurt’s own home, in the wake of the vulnerable positions they were putting themselves in, it was _so_ different.

By the time the unwelcomingly bright rays of the sun came streaming through Kurt’s blinds again, he had barely gotten a wink of fitful sleep, but he wasn’t tired - because despite his better judgment, without fully knowing why, he came to resolve to try, too, at some point during the night.

It was for himself, after all, for Adam and for his marriage. Being nice enough to Blaine, talking to Blaine, _tolerating_ Blaine, was all Kurt had to do to achieve his goal of avoiding change, to ensure that his marriage would improve. Once the study was over, he could give Adam what he needed to stay, and nothing would be any different.

After one week, seven - now just six - days, everything would be back to normal, and he could go back to his routine.

At the end of the day, as manipulative as it sounded, Blaine was just a pawn, and Kurt finally had the opportunity to use him to get on top. If he could help Blaine in the process, too, well - he figured that wouldn’t kill him.

He just hoped Blaine would give him the chance.

* * *

Blaine had always prided himself on his ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere - couches, desks at school, even floors, buses on the way to choir competitions. 

If he was tired enough, he slept.

But apparently he couldn’t sleep in Kurt’s apartment.

The bed was comfortable enough, and the thermostat was at a pleasant temperature - perfect, actually, exactly what he would prefer to keep it on if Dave didn’t always want it cooler. He had long since become used to the noise of the city, and he hadn’t heard a peep from Kurt, either, so he wasn’t sure what his _problem_ was.

But perhaps that was it - Kurt. 

Blaine felt like an idiot for having any hope for their forced week together, even a tiny shred of it. Kurt had clearly never wanted anything to do with Blaine, and he had no reason to believe that would change at any point - especially when _he_ was intruding in _Kurt’s_ home, in Kurt’s life, in his _everything._

But it was odd that, even still, Kurt hadn’t kicked him out, instead leading him to the bedroom and effectively pausing their conversation, not ending it, and Blaine couldn’t help but wonder why.

In fact, there was a _lot_ he wondered about Kurt, a lot he suddenly wanted to know. He had always been so closed off, so high and mighty and _cocky_ in a way that had always driven Blaine crazy. Every time they were in the same place, whether it was a work event or an audition or anything else, it was the same - avoiding each other’s eyes, Kurt’s head held high, then an inevitable clash between them.

Blaine couldn’t remember how it started or even _why_ it had started. He knew the musical theater programs at NYU and NYADA were both strong, and he knew prospective students often came down to choosing between the two of them. He knew Kurt lobbied to get students into his studio at NYADA just as hard as Blaine did with his own at NYU, and though Blaine didn’t like to brag, the numbers spoke for themselves - the department at NYU was just a bit more popular, just a bit more renown, just a bit more versatile.

It wasn’t personal, though, at least not for him. It wasn’t like he actively tried to poach students from Kurt or dissuade them from going to NYADA, but the more Kurt accused him of doing it, the more annoyed Blaine became, and the harder he worked in all aspects of his career, because nothing bothered him more than someone who _assumed_ things about him.

Blaine _enjoyed_ people - he loved meeting others, socializing, making people smile, especially when they had things in common - and he _knew_ that in a different, more peaceful universe, he and Kurt had all the makings to be a dream team. They could collaborate on inter-school showcases and friendly competitions, create hype for a bigger audience and more ticket sales, encourage and motivate one another…

And besides that, Kurt was so _talented,_ and Blaine just knew that, given the opportunity, their voices and passions and spirits would go great together - _better_ than great, even.

But no. Kurt saw him as a threat, and Kurt instantly wrote him off, and that was it - and so Blaine learned to do the same, to just take Kurt for what he was showing himself to be, as unfair as it felt.

Cocky, cold, pretentious.

Blaine had gotten so _good_ at it, too, despite his naive desire to always seek out the best in people, but after a mere handful of hours looking into Kurt’s real life, there were already so many cracks in his armor, so many glimpses at the depth Kurt was hiding beneath it all.

It was hard to keep trying to hate Kurt when he was so obviously human - just like Blaine, just like everyone else.

And he didn’t _want_ to hate Kurt. Years of a rivalry or feud or _whatever_ weren’t enough to change that, because Blaine knew he wasn’t being true to himself acting that way, and he had a feeling it was the same for Kurt, too.

He hoped, at least. Always hoped.

So Blaine still wanted to help. He still wanted to listen, and he still wanted to spend the week getting to know Kurt and identifying ways to help _both_ of their marriages, too. He _wanted_ to be that collaborative team that could work together, and if the study had identified them as compatible matches, the potential must be there to make it happen.

At least to some extent.

Of course, in the end, it was all up to Kurt - Blaine could only put himself out there so many times, could only try so hard with nothing in return.

He tossed and turned for the majority of the night, willing himself to work up the courage to give it just one more shot.

Blaine must have fallen asleep at some point, though, eventually stirring awake at the stubborn call of his bladder and a pang of hunger in his stomach at the smell of coffee and- breakfast?

As tempting as it was, he didn’t let the rumble in his stomach get to him - even in his sleep-addled brain, he knew there was no logical reason why the food would have been for him. He just needed to get up, freshen up, and get out of Kurt’s hair once and for all - surely that was what Kurt wanted.

But by the time he finished up in the bathroom and worked up the nerve to walk out and face the music, Kurt was there in the kitchen, finishing up making breakfast - two cups of coffee, two bowls of berries, two plates, two everything.

_Oh._

“Um, hi,” Blaine greeted shyly, wincing at the obvious sound of sleep heavy in his voice, hoping not to startle Kurt with his presence. 

Kurt just glanced up from the stove as if he’d been waiting all the while, offering him a small, slightly tired - but uncannily _real -_ smile. 

“Hey,” he said softly, turning back to finish plating what looked like a stack of French toast, its fragrant vanilla and cinnamon making Blaine’s stomach growl again despite his confusion and sudden nerves. 

He watched quietly, unsure of what else to do as Kurt brought everything over to the table - the last thing he wanted to do was assume, to overstep, and so he waited for the offer, somehow still surprised when it came.

“You hungry?”

Kurt sounded casual enough, but Blaine knew it was anything but - as he looked up, Kurt’s eyes were tentative, just as unsure as Blaine was.

So undoubtedly human, so unlike the mask he had always so carefully worn.

“Yeah, um. Thank you,” Blaine nodded, unable to do anything but settle into the kitchen table and _go_ with it. 

They were quiet for a while, an uncomfortable stalemate settling between them as they began to eat. It left Blaine to wonder if _he_ was supposed to say something, if he was expected to offer himself up first yet again.

He wasn’t sure if he could, even if he wanted to.

But then Kurt took a deep breath, and he exhaled slowly, purposeful in every aspect, and then he spoke. 

“So, um.” Kurt cleared his throat awkwardly, stirring his spoon in his mug in a repetitive, nearly compulsive circle. “First of all, uh. Thanks for...not just telling me to screw off or something.”

“It’s hard for me to resist breakfast food,” Blaine shrugged, though he instantly regretted his lame attempt at lightness. Everything felt so fragile, so tense - any wrong move, wrong breath would ruin it all over again.

It was hard, too, for Blaine to resist what seemed to be Kurt’s attempt at an olive branch, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Me too.” Kurt paused, meeting Blaine’s eyes - shyly, almost - and offering him a small, curious smile before flicking his eyes away again. “But I was thinking, um. I-I actually think you’re right, what you said last night. I mean, it was Adam’s idea to do this, and I-I hope he’s actually going to put some effort into it, you know? Plus I know NYU really _is_ trying to collect data from this, so…”

He trailed off, now stabbing his fork repeatedly into his slice of French toast, making a mess of it. He looked so conflicted, sounded so _strained,_ like he was almost there, almost at the point of apologizing, of making things right, but he couldn’t quite _do_ it.

Kurt was extending himself as much as he was able to, - or willing to, at least - but they were hanging in limbo, and it was Blaine’s turn to meet him halfway.

“So you want us to try,” Blaine finished, unable to sit quietly in wait any longer.

“I-I do, yes.”

_Wow._

It was exactly what Blaine had hoped for, exactly what he had never expected.

But Kurt knew exactly how to get to him, exactly how to _hurt_ him, too, and the more trust Blaine put in him, the deeper the digs and the jabs and the insults _did_ cut.

Even still, he knew he had to try, and he had to hold onto his unrelenting shred of persistent optimism - for the sake of his marriage, if for nothing else.

“Um… Okay,” he agreed. “But you know this means we’re supposed to essentially act like we’re married, minus all the actual, uh. Romantic stuff. We should talk to each other, get to know each other better, go out or something, maybe even-”

“I read the contract, too, you know,” Kurt snapped, though he instantly deflated, wincing. “Sorry, I...need to work on that.”

“...Yeah.” Blaine let out an uncomfortable laugh, trying to push back the oddly potent sting. “Well, um. What do you want to do?”

He was skeptical at best, though he felt he had every right to be. He was typically trusting, nearly to a fault, but Kurt had him thrown for a loop over and over again, leaving Blaine perpetually unsure of what was around the corner, of what might make everything shift again.

He just couldn’t let himself get too comfortable.

Kurt was quiet for a moment, spearing a strawberry with his fork and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Ever curious, Blaine bit back his impatience in favor of giving Kurt room to breathe, to come to him first.

And then Kurt looked over at Blaine again, a glint in his eyes, a faint but undoubtedly genuine smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s do something fun.”

* * *

Kurt wasn’t sure of Blaine’s typical brand of fun, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, either.

The experiment guidelines had recommended engaging in activities each of them enjoyed as a way to find common ground, a way to break the ice, a way to bond, and so Kurt decided to take that and run with it.

If they were doing this, if Kurt was going to give Blaine a chance, he had to remain in control - it was the only way he could handle it. 

They were going to do what _Kurt_ wanted to do.

He wasn’t expecting to be struck by the acute realization that he couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out with Adam just _because,_ especially to do something of his own choosing. Kurt used to make an effort, planning dates and making dinner reservations, but after one last minute cancellation after another, pushed back and pushed back again, he just stopped trying to reschedule.

Even then, Kurt had tried opening himself up to hanging out with Adam’s grad school friends, but one pissy beer too many in a loud, sweaty pub was enough to turn his stomach and make him give up entirely.

He missed that - doing things together, sharing experiences, making memories. 

He wondered if Adam ever missed it, too.

Wandering through his old favorite farmers market, side by side with a man who was decidedly _not_ his husband, Kurt filed away the thought to bring up with Adam later, after the dust settled and their normal lives resumed.

But for the moment, he was with Blaine, who was very quickly proving himself to be nothing like Kurt had always assumed he was.

He was unable to help but notice how _polite_ Blaine was, kindly greeting and thanking every vendor they passed by and sounding like he _wanted_ to do it, like he genuinely wanted to talk to each and every one of them, not just out of obligation.

And Blaine was enthusiastic, too, smelling flowers and delicately handling fruits and vegetables, even offering to pay for ingredients for a dinner they could make together - which Kurt had abruptly declined, more startled by his own odd immediate desire to say _yes_ than anything else. 

Blaine was just…

He was sweet.

There was no other word for it - he was just so _sweet_ he was almost cloying, fearfully toeing the line of intoxicating, in fact.

Kurt made a stubborn point of ignoring it.

Instead of Blaine’s idea of cooking dinner at home - which sounded like _far_ too much too soon, borderline dangerous, though Kurt wasn’t sure why - they ended up in a small, dim restaurant, sipping strong, boozy cocktails and sharing boards of meats and cheeses and fruits, rich and indulgent and delicious.

It took a full drink for Kurt to even be able to consider letting his guard down, but by the second, he was feeling warm and loose, and Blaine looked slightly flushed and almost golden in the low light. His eyes were all melted honey, drawing Kurt in more by the second as they talked about anything and everything, though they upheld a silent agreement not to breach the topic of work.

And that was all it was - they were just _talking_ , and it was easy, and it was _nice._

Comfortable, even.

“Tell me about your husband?” Kurt prompted during a natural lull in the conversation, wanting to stay on topic, needing to keep their goal in sight.

_You don’t actually want to be here. This is for Adam. Adam, Adam, Adam._

Blaine raised his eyebrows, looking surprised as he drained the rest of his Manhattan, setting the glass back down but keeping his hand wrapped around it, thumb rubbing up and down the stem in a slow, almost mesmerizing motion.

_Up, down, up, down, god it’s warm in here-_

Kurt swallowed thickly, tearing his eyes away from Blaine’s hand after a long moment, looking away - at the plates of food between them, at his own near-empty glass, at the bar area, anywhere else.

_You don’t want to be here._

“Dave’s a great guy,” Blaine started, offering Kurt a small smile. “We went to the same high school back in Ohio - actually, we figured out we transferred to it at the same time, my sophomore year and his junior. Anyway, we didn’t really _know_ each other until I ran into him at- uh, at country bear night at a club.” 

Kurt couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, bubbling warm and giddily out of his chest. The mental image of Blaine surrounded by big, burly men, probably done up in overalls and hats and the rest of it, was almost too much to take - it was _gold._

 _“You?_ You go to _country bear_ night?” 

“No, no!” Blaine laughed, all teeth and crinkly eyes, lifting up his hands in mock defense. “I swear, I didn’t even know!”

“Sure, sure,” Kurt grinned, helpless as the alcohol in his belly made the world go fuzzy around the edges, keeping Blaine as the center of it all, nearly luminous in his smile, his laughter, his eyes.

It was nearly too much when Blaine ducked his head bashfully, only to look up at Kurt again practically from underneath his eyelashes, his smile suddenly turned softer, almost more private.

_Stop. You don’t want this. Adam._

“Anyway,” Blaine shrugged, reaching for an olive, though he never broke eye contact, his smile never fading. “We got to talking, and I guess we just...didn’t stop. That was about...gosh, eight years ago now? And we’ve been married just over two.”

“Waited a long time. Even longer than me,” Kurt mused, surprised. 

It was only then that Blaine’s smile faltered, face falling just noticeably so, only apparent to Kurt because he had been looking so intently already, though he hadn’t realized he had been.

It was strange, the way he felt so drawn in by Blaine out of nowhere, but Kurt easily blamed it on the alcohol, on missing his husband. He was just projecting - that was all it was, all it could be.

_You don’t even want to be here. Remember that. You can’t want it._

But Blaine was obviously caught on a sticking point, having gone quiet, and though Kurt wasn’t sure why, he figured he owed it to him to brush past the curiously touchy subject and move on - for the moment, at least.

“So, Ohio, you say?” he offered, cocking his head to the side. “I actually grew up in a cow town there of my own…” 

It was an interesting feeling, connecting with someone so effortlessly, especially someone Kurt had worked so long to avoid, to _hate._

As the conversation continued through the rest of their meal and all the way back to Kurt’s apartment, where they settled on the couch with Blaine’s bottle of wine, it got harder and harder for Kurt to remember _why_ he hated Blaine so much in the first place.

It was like they matched each other on every topic, relating to one another in anything and everything - from growing up in the midwest to having a soft spot for cheesy movies, even staying up to date on current fashion trends and styles, though they each ran with that information very differently.

After what felt like ages of missing the mark with his own husband, it felt _good._

Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

Either way, Kurt felt warmer and happier and looser than he had in ages, lounging back against his couch, feet accidentally bumping against Blaine’s again and again in the space between them and then finally just _staying_ there, ankles nudged up together, swapping silly stories and losing themselves in peals of laughter at random intervals.

It was his own fault for bringing up the audition.

“Yknow, I was really, really mad at you when you got that callback for the Cabaret revival,” he admitted, words slightly slurred as he reached for the near-empty bottle of wine. “I really… I really thought that one was finally for me, but noooo. Blaine Anderson, swooping in again!”

Kurt wasn’t mad - at least, he wasn’t at first, but by the time he was finished talking, the familiar bubbles and twists of resentment were coiling in his stomach, all for the stupidly talented, oddly compelling man so close to him.

“I didn’t steal it from you,” Blaine frowned defensively, furrowing his eyebrows. “I didn’t even go out for the Emcee role, it’s not my fault I got called back for it. But that was, like- three years ago or something, Kurt, are you really- is that why you hate me so much?”

“It’s not just that!” Kurt exclaimed, drawing his legs up onto the couch, as if to protect himself. “You’re always- You’re everywhere, like you’re one step ahead of me. A little more popular, a little more successful, always taking students and auditions and _all_ of it! Taking it from _me.”_

“I work hard, _Kurt,_ and I’m good at what I do,” Blaine huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not apologizing for that. In fact, maybe you should take a good long look at yourself if you’re so _threatened_ by me just-”

“I am _not!”_ Kurt interjected, fire in his veins. It was all getting out of hand far too quickly, the exact opposite of what their evening was supposed to be, but it felt vindictive, in a way, getting all up in Blaine’s face and _saying_ it all, putting all his cards on the table, playing to win once and for all. “I happen to know _exactly_ where my talents lie, which is why I _also_ know I deserve _way_ more than what I’m getting, especially compared to _you,_ Mr. Nice Guy!”

“You think you’re so much better than me, then? Then prove it, I dare you. Just- Just _do_ something!” Blaine demanded, and Kurt felt wild and unhinged from their argument, fuzzy from the alcohol, heated from a combination of everything.

_Can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t focus, Blaine, right there, Blaine Blaine Blaine-_

It was all too much.

He snapped.

* * *

Blaine wasn’t sure who moved first.

He wasn’t sure when Kurt’s mouth found his own - or maybe his found Kurt’s - but suddenly they were kissing, fast and deep and _dirty,_ too much tongue and teeth and not enough finesse, not enough care to really _be_ anything.

But somehow, it was _everything._

Blaine’s hands flew to Kurt’s sides of their own accord, gripping low there, thumbs pressing nearly into the dips where his hips met his upper thighs. All at once, Kurt was on top of him, pressing him back into the arm of the couch with an intensity he couldn’t combat if he wanted to - but he _so_ didn’t want to.

Kurt’s body was toned and lithe in a way he was just completely and utterly unused to, but his weight was solid and heavy on top of him, grounding him, and Blaine _loved_ it, _needed_ it, couldn’t get him close enough, needed more, _more more more, make me feel, make me alive._

He was too drunk, too far gone, too warm and hot and entirely on _fire_ to care, to think, to _breathe_ anything that wasn’t Kurt.

 _Kurt,_ who was working his tongue into Blaine’s mouth again and again, messily fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt, taking and _taking_ everything Blaine wanted to give, everything he _could_ give - and even more. 

Kurt, who had always _hated_ him, who sniped at him at every opportunity, who had written him off faster than anyone else Blaine had ever met, who had never been anything but completely and utterly unfair.

Kurt, who was all passion and dedication towards everything, even his enemies, who was sheer _electricity,_ whose every touch drove sparks thrumming through Blaine’s body, settling as a constant, intoxicating energy in his veins.

There was no one else on the planet, in the galaxy, in the _universe._

It was a fast sequence of fuzzy, elastic moments, somehow nearly concurrent - Kurt kissing his jaw, his neck, pulling open his shirt and biting at his collarbone. Kurt pushing Blaine’s legs apart, Blaine giving him no resistance, spreading open willingly, Kurt settling between, slotting their hips together, rocking into him, _god._

Blaine was almost fading in and out of his utter existence, held entirely in Kurt’s hands, at Kurt’s mercy, giving himself over for Kurt to work out his anger, his resentment, his _hurt_ for Blaine, for his husband, for his life, for the _world,_ once and for all.

Somehow, it was exactly where he wanted to be.

And fuck, Blaine was _aching_ for it, aching for something, aching for _him -_ vaguely aware of his hands grabbing at Kurt’s back, fisting in his shirt, vaguely aware of how ridiculously turned on he was, the sounds he was making, little noises and _more_ and _yes, fuck, please._

Then the question came.

“What do you want?” 

Kurt’s voice was low, thick and heavy with alcohol and exertion and _arousal,_ and it startled Blaine back into his body, suddenly aware of the room around him, of the man on top of him, eyes alight and dark and _wild,_ lips swollen and spit-slick and kissed red.

Part of him was surprised Kurt was even asking, was stopping to check in with Blaine and _not_ just taking, but offering a part of himself, too.

The answer was obvious - in fact, Blaine had never _wanted_ so badly, not for anything. It had been so long, and he _needed_ it, needed _someone,_ and Kurt was _there,_ and he was able and willing and capable of providing, something Blaine had been missing for so insanely long.

“Fuck me,” he exhaled brokenly, reaching up to thread his fingers through the back of Kurt’s hair, damp with sweat yet somehow still soft and completely irresistible. _“Please,_ I-”

 _“God_ ,” Kurt moaned in response, just _staring_ at him with a dark, devastating intensity, eyes flickering all over his face, looking, seemingly _searching_ for something, and Blaine stopped breathing, unable to do anything but _need._

Then Kurt was up and off of him, pulling him up, too, in a strong, singular motion, sending his head spinning and his body swaying, his mind reeling with possibility. Blaine quickly came to brace his hands on Kurt’s broad, warm chest to steady himself, leaning their foreheads together as they locked eyes, tension building between with a force he could barely take.

And _oh,_ Blaine suddenly remembered _he_ was angry, too, and he was hurt and wounded and offended and _pissed,_ so much in part due to the man in front of him, who had unfairly judged and assumed and brought the worst out of him for so many years.

In his wasted mind, it felt like a twisted retaliation, some sort of convoluted payback, taking the pleasure he _ached_ for so wantonly from the person who had never done anything but make him _hurt._

He had also never been so turned on in his fucking _life._

“Fuck. Me,” he repeated, his voice a low, shaken growl, breath heaving in his chest, his heart pounding in his ears.

In an abrupt onslaught of sheer animalistic _want,_ Blaine worked his fingers into Kurt’s hair and pulled him into a frantic kiss of his own, sucking his bottom lip harshly into his mouth and biting down, tugging hard and eliciting a moan from the back of Kurt’s throat that felt like a reward, a _confirmation._

Kurt seemed to lose himself in it, nearly crumbling as his body rocked into Blaine’s, fingers possessively digging into the swell of Blaine’s ass and holding him in place, holding him steady, but it was only a brief moment before he regained control, promptly tugging Blaine down the hallway, stumbling into the bedroom.

What had felt like a flurry of quick, captured moments, one tumbling after another, slowed to a crawl as soon as they collapsed onto the bed in a mess of limbs and half-stripped clothing.

Blaine became hyper aware of every touch from Kurt’s hands, every electrifying point of contact where their bodies connected - a tangle of legs, a press of hips, all mouths and tongues and hot, boozy breath mixing between them. A shock came to his system as their fingers came to lace together, resting on either side of Blaine’s head in a stark contrast of intimacy as Kurt rolled on top of him again, tethering him to the very universe with the incredible weight of his body. 

It was almost too much, his nerve endings on fire, his blood boiling, his toes curling as he ached for more, for a release, for _him,_ and then Kurt pulled back, breaking their kiss in favor of just looking down at him, straddling his hips yet touching nowhere else but where their palms pressed together, their fingers locked in a white-knuckled grip - he was truly just _looking._

And time stopped completely.

A breath hitched deep in Blaine’s chest at the indescribably intense expression on Kurt’s face, and he was powerless to do anything but melt into the mattress and just stare back at the man above him, suddenly overcome by everything about him - his mussed hair sticking up everywhere, his flushed, sweat-glistened face, his dark, uninhibited eyes, unlike anything Blaine had ever seen before.

“Beautiful,” he breathed out, unconvinced he had truly spoken aloud until Kurt reacted, his eyes widening, mouth falling open as he gaped for a fleeting, suspended moment.

But then it passed, and Kurt was moving again, unbuttoning Blaine’s pants and pulling them off unceremoniously, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, though Blaine couldn’t remember when he had lost his shirt.

It didn’t matter - he was unable to focus on anything but Kurt, whose eyes were immediately glued to where Blaine’s cock strained achingly hard in his briefs, undoubtedly leaving a wet spot where its head rubbed against the fabric. 

_“Fuck,_ you’re desperate for it, aren’t you,” Kurt groaned, straightening up on his knees as he yanked off his own shirt then fumbled with his belt buckle with trembling, impatient hands.

He was struggling, but Blaine was impossibly impatient _,_ forcibly ignoring the rush in his head in favor of sitting up and taking over, driven by his need to _touch feel taste see_ as he worked open Kurt’s belt and fly, attempting to shove his impossibly tight pants down and giving up once they were around his knees because _fuck._ Kurt was so sexy and unreal and _hard, so hard_ in his perfectly fitted underwear, and Blaine couldn’t wait any longer.

“Come on,” he moaned, impossibly frustrated and worked up, lifting his hips to strip off his own briefs, not caring anymore. He promptly grasped his own cock and pumped it slowly, letting out a shaky, high whimper at the jolt of heat that coursed through him as he squeezed his eyes closed, wordlessly pleading for Kurt to take over.

“Roll over.”

Blaine was belly down on the bed in compliance before he realized he had even moved, whining as he felt the weight on the bed shift as Kurt got up. He turned his head, burying his face in the blessedly cool pillow, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Kurt pulled down his pants the rest of the way, taking his briefs with him in an expert motion. 

If Blaine weren’t so drunk, he would have been impressed with Kurt’s grace in the wake of his own inebriation, but he didn’t care - Kurt was finally, _finally_ naked. His silhouette was illuminated by the city lights streaming through the windows, just enough to show his combination of sharp angles and mesmerizing curves, cock hanging heavy between his legs as he dug through his drawer for a condom and a bottle of lube.

Blaine had never craved anything - _anyone -_ so badly in his life.

Just as well, he had never been so willing to just _give_ himself over as Kurt returned to the bed, and so he did, completely losing himself in the heady haze of the wine in his belly, the pleasure thrumming in his veins as Kurt worked him open, the heat coiling low in his stomach as he rutted his hips into the mattress, the shivers that ran down his spine as Kurt nipped at his earlobes and sucked open-mouthed kisses at his neck, his shoulders, his back in the process.

“God, do you ever shut up?” 

It wasn’t until Kurt’s voice came heated and slurred in his ear that Blaine realized he had been speaking - babbling, more like, begging and pleading in a way that would have been entirely embarrassing if only he had a shred of dignity left.

But that was long gone, left outside the doorstep, stripped away the moment he entered Kurt’s apartment, Kurt’s world, Kurt’s life, and even in his booze-addled mind, he knew it.

“Sorry, just, _please,”_ Blaine whined, caught between pressing back against the fingers crooked _just right_ inside him and rocking into the bed underneath him in a desperate search for some sort of relief - a relief he was too far gone to find on his own.

A few more purposeful brushes against his prostate and then Kurt’s fingers were gone, and Blaine was left wanting, air cold around him and cooling his sweaty skin, left in wait for what felt like an eternity. He felt like he was drowning in the blankets and pillows, the room too spacious around him, the world too big and dark and _empty,_ and it was all keeping him too far away from Kurt, _where’s Kurt, where did he go, I need-_

And then came a body draping heavily over his own, a chest molding flush to his back, a mouth exhaling hot, ragged breaths right in his ear, a blunt press inside of him, stretching him out, and _yes, finally, Kurt._

Blaine was vaguely aware of the intensive stretch, the nagging burn as Kurt began fucking into him, thrusting deep from the start, paying no mind to ease into it. It was so much, nearly _too_ much, but he didn’t care, wanted _more,_ wanted Kurt to push his limits and break him entirely in a way he had never had before, in a way he had never known he would enjoy.

The cocktail of whiskey and wine and arousal in his veins was making his limbs heavy and everything fuzzy aside from the feeling of Kurt surrounding him and in him and _everywhere,_ the heat twisting and swirling in his body, low in the pit of his belly, coiling _tightertightertighter_ as he chased the feeling, arching his back and lifting his hips up into it as best he could.

Kurt’s arm came to wind around his chest, pulling Blaine up on his knees and fitted right against him, like he _knew_ Blaine needed more _,_ needed to be closer, or maybe _Kurt_ needed it himself, too. Blaine shakily reached his arms back to grasp around Kurt’s neck for some sort of support to stay upright, head thrown back onto Kurt’s shoulder, quite literally at his mercy as Kurt fucked into him, hard and fast and deep and _good, so fucking good, right there, harder._

It somehow felt like an eternity and a blink of an eye by the time the tension inside him was ready to snap, and then Kurt’s free hand was there, wrapped around his cock and jerking tight and fast and _purposeful,_ drawing his release right out of him, and Blaine was powerless to do anything but _go,_ coming hard with a full-body shudder, collapsing onto the mattress in a sweaty, spent heap.

Head swimming in a sea of sated, syrupy pleasure, Blaine just barely registered the feeling of Kurt following him down, doubling his efforts as he chased his own release, again and again, harder, faster, fucking Blaine into a transcendent state of oversensitivity. 

And then he heard Kurt moaned his name, low and deep and right in his ear, and he felt Kurt’s cock pulsing, _throbbing_ inside of him, and he felt the whine ripple out of his own throat in response, and that was all Blaine could take before the alcohol-laden pull of sleep dragged him under and everything turned blessedly, blissfully black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well...let me know what you think? :-)


	4. Day Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everybody! a little news/housekeeping from me: I recently got a full time job! I've been out of work since march because of the pandemic, so this is a pretty big relief for me - I start next week. BUT I'm telling you this here because it might mean this fic will be a little slower-going from now on, considering I'll be a lot busier during the week.
> 
> you should still get another chapter this weekend, but after that, it'll likely be one chapter a week instead of two. this story is quickly coming to mean a lot to me, so I want to do it right :-)
> 
> anyways, enough of that - onto the aftermath....

It was still dark out when Kurt shook awake with a sharp breath in, his head pounding, his mouth impossibly dry. There was a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, his bare skin cool and sticky, and there was a furnace of warmth pressing down on top of him, splayed on his chest and tucked into his neck. 

He couldn’t focus on a single sensation - it was bad, impossibly uncomfortable, all of it. 

Except for the warmth.

The warmth was nice, if not slightly on the side of too hot, pillowed on his chest with a perfect heaviness, grounding him to the earth in a way he hadn’t felt in years, possibly ever.

But _why?_

What was it?

Adam was gone for the week, he remembered, and he was the only other man Kurt had shared a bed with in years. He was meant to be sharing his life with Blaine in the meantime, but there was no way in hell that would _ever_ include his bed because Blaine was-

_Blaine._

Oh god.

The memories hit Kurt like a tidal wave, making him shake, making his head spin, making bile rise in his throat.

It was all Blaine, pissing him off, turning him on, drawing him in. It was all Blaine _begging_ for him, open and wanting and aching in a way Kurt had never experienced in his life. It was Blaine’s mouth on his own, Blaine’s hands everywhere, Blaine’s voice and Blaine’s breathing and Blaine’s cock in his hand and Blaine stretched around him, so tight and hot and _good_ \- _Blaine,_ in every moment, in every breath, the very center of the universe.

_Fuck._

It was wrong, all of it wrong, but what was worst of all was how _right_ it had somehow felt, making Kurt feel so alive, so human, so _wanted._

But Kurt was _married._ They _both_ were, and they were meant to be _fixing_ their relationships, not- 

Cheating.

Kurt was a _cheater._ He had done the unthinkable, and he had _cheated_ on his husband of nearly five years, and he was dirty and filthy and the lowest of the low, and he couldn’t _breathe._

The room was suddenly too dark, too small, too hot, and he _couldn’t breathe,_ and he had to get out.

Flinching as if he’d been burned, Kurt came into full awareness of his body and unceremoniously pushed Blaine’s arm off of him, wincing at how his skin could feel the stretch of their separation, considering they were glued together by dried sweat and _god_ knows what else. He swallowed thickly in an attempt to force down the tears and the bile and the utter reality of the situation, shakily pulling on what he hoped was his own underwear from the floor and rushing out of the room with no regard for whether he had woken Blaine or not.

He didn’t care. 

His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest as he stumbled blindly through his apartment, having no mind to turn on a light or brush his teeth or swallow painkillers for the ache in his head and in his limbs - he had to get _out._

It wasn’t until he shoved open the sliding door to his balcony and stepped into the chilly night air that Kurt gasped in a deep, trembling breath, promptly sinking into the lounge chair and hugging its pillow to his chest.

His eyes were tired, unfocused, and he blinked slowly as they adjusted to the painfully bright lights of the city, oddly illuminated with life, even in the middle of the night.

He was used to it.

Kurt found himself out on his balcony on more sleepless nights than he’d care to admit, whether he felt suffocated by Adam’s presence or lonely from his unexplained absence or anything in between. In a strange way, his husband’s inconsistency _was_ predictable, and though he was used to it in most ways, it always left Kurt wondering, often left him anxious.

The city was always the same, though, always twinkling lights and bustling noise, never changing, everything he had ever hoped for, the only dream that had actually come to full fruition.

It was a view he was proud of being able to afford, and it was one he had come to rely on, one that comforted him at his lowest points.

But with his head flooding with memories and confusion and regrets and _Blaine,_ it wasn’t enough. 

He had been drunk - _really_ drunk, actually, having downed a handful of cocktails and the better part of his half of their shared bottle of wine - but he hadn’t been drunk enough to forget.

In fact, their night was playing through his mind again and again, the heat and the intensity and the sounds and the _pleasure,_ though it didn’t do anything to help him understand _why._

 _Why_ had Blaine suddenly become so irresistibly alluring? Why had Kurt’s anger, his pain, his resentment culminated in- in _that?_

Why was Blaine even _there?_ Why was he matched up with Kurt, and why was he struggling with his marriage, and why had he resorted to something as pitiful as a collegiate research study to help?

Why had Blaine kissed back, touched back, wanted and pleaded and _begged?_

Why had Kurt done it, and why had he craved it, needed it, _ached_ for it more than he had for anything else in ages?

It was like he hadn’t been able to get _enough_ of Blaine, couldn’t get him close enough, couldn’t get enough of his mouth and his skin and his touch and his taste and the electricity that rippled through his veins during each and every moment, addictive and intoxicating and _everything._

It terrified him.

He had been so afraid of change for so long, resisting it in favor of what he knew was complacency because at least complacency was _reliable,_ and he could trust it, and he could settle in and put his head down and make it through.

Every time he had attempted change, it had either resulted in failure or come back to bite him in the ass or _both,_ and he had no reason to think the experiment would turn out any different.

Not only had it threatened a change he didn’t even _want,_ something his husband had pushed him into, the research study had fallen apart in a matter of two days, in a way that hadn’t even been on his radar.

Yet it had been all his own doing - Kurt was the one to let Blaine in despite his instincts, to reach for Blaine and kiss him, to undress him and push him onto the bed and _fuck_ him, deep and fast and good, so _good,_ drawing the pleasure right out of him for his own drunken, hazy release.

Even in all of his morning-after regrets, even in his booze-addled fog, Kurt knew good and well it was the best sex he’d had in years, a connection that reached the very core of his being and rocked it, setting it ablaze.

He had to confront it, had to find a way to understand it, had to face reality and his life and _himself,_ but staring out into the city lights, he was completely and utterly numb.

“Kurt?”

He didn’t react - he couldn’t. He knew full well it was Blaine, that Blaine had found him out there on the balcony, and Kurt’s first instinct was to snap at him for it, for finding him, for never leaving him alone, for changing everything without letting him take a single _breath, please, it’s all too much._

Instead, he kept his eyes on the skyline, afraid the world would come crumbling to pieces if he dared to look away.

* * *

Blaine had woken up shivering, cold and clammy and naked, his muscles sore and aching from head to toe.

He knew right away that he was alone, just like he always was, but it wasn’t the same. It shouldn’t have felt different, but it _did -_ somehow, he felt the absence of another person, of someone who was meant to be tangled up with him, the bed large and empty and lonely.

But it wasn’t Dave, no doubt in his mind. Blaine had gotten used to sleeping without his husband over a year ago, during what had been a gradual shift of gravitating towards separate bedrooms each night, first occasionally, then more often than not, then always.

He was used to it. It didn’t mean he didn’t miss cuddling, and it didn’t mean he didn’t miss being close to another person, but he was used to it.

But this feeling, waking up disoriented and sore and lonely?

This was different.

This was _Kurt._

In fact, Blaine had completely fallen into Kurt, and he had been taken apart and put back together at the very hands of the man who had always seemed to want to tear him down entirely.

And it had been incredible.

But Kurt wasn’t there anymore.

This was Kurt’s bed, Kurt’s room, Kurt’s _apartment,_ but Kurt wasn’t _there,_ and Blaine needed to find him, because they had _cheated on their husbands_ and gotten themselves into a huge, irreversible mess, and the only way through it was to figure it out together.

It _had_ to be the only way.

He knew that would be easier said than done - Kurt was going to put up a fight, was going to lash out and pin it on Blaine because _why wouldn't he?_

Kurt had already fought against Blaine dozens of times for much, much less.

But they had done something Blaine never thought he was even capable of, and he had an uncomfortable feeling twisting deep in his gut that nothing would be the same again.

It couldn’t be - but he couldn’t think about that yet, either.

It was still dark out, and Blaine was hungover and exhausted, but he couldn’t go back to sleep - he was single mindedly focused on finding Kurt.

_Get to Kurt, Kurt will know what to do, you just need to find him._

Dragging himself out of bed, tugging on his wrinkled pants from the previous night, and pulling a blanket around his shoulders was easier for Blaine to manage than even daring to think about what any of it meant for his marriage, what his consequences would be.

All of those things were easier than figuring out _why_ he had wanted Kurt so badly, too.

And why he felt so drawn to search for Kurt now, without any real reason for it.

After all, what could they really _do?_

He wondered where Kurt went, if he was still home, but he didn’t have to wonder long - something drew Blaine out to the balcony, and there Kurt was, curled up on a lounge chair and staring out into the city lights, unresponsive to Blaine’s presence.

Blaine wasn’t sure what to say. There were no words for what they had done, no way to speak it aloud, and he found himself wishing that it had just been a nightmare. If they didn’t mention it, maybe it would just fade away into the background, and maybe it hadn’t happened at all.

But looking at Kurt’s exhausted frame, naked except for his underwear, angry lines of scratches from Blaine's fingernails decorating his back, Blaine knew every bit of it had been real.

And Kurt was _trembling,_ be it from the chill in the early morning air or the weight of their shared experience heavy on his shoulders, wracking through his body.

“Kurt, you’re shaking,” he breathed, moving at once to take the blanket from around his own shoulders in favor of draping it over Kurt’s. Blaine made sure it was securely wrapped around him before sitting on the edge of the other chair on the cramped balcony, afraid he was too close, somehow feeling like he wasn’t close enough.

It was only then that Kurt acknowledged him, pulling the blanket further around himself and just shaking his head, lips parting in a shaky, stuttered exhale.

“We should… We should talk about this,” Blaine started tentatively, not daring to look over at Kurt again. Instead, he looked out into the city, watching as the sunrise just barely began to crest over the tops of the shortest buildings, just as it did every other day.

He had never felt more detached from reality.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Kurt’s voice was cold, near emotionless, in many ways exactly what Blaine had expected. But it didn’t matter - Blaine had to find a way to break Kurt’s walls down, to get him to talk, to get him to _listen._

Whether they wanted it or not, they were the only two people on the planet who could understand each other.

“You can’t _do_ this, alright?” Blaine pleaded, rubbing his hand over his face before looking over at Kurt tiredly. Naturally, Kurt still wasn’t looking at him, but he wasn’t making any moves to talk, either, and so Blaine took the opportunity to push forward. “I’m not going to let you pin this on me, Kurt. I’m not the bad guy here - you know that, right?”

Silence.

Blaine knew that Kurt had to be struggling, too, and he knew that different people reacted differently to things, and he _knew_ that he was a talker and wore his heart on his sleeve and was probably five seconds away from crying in his sleep-deprived state, but as empathetic as he also tried to be, he was reaching his limit.

Talking to Kurt was like talking to a brick wall - except it somehow threatened to explode at any moment, a hair trigger away from crashing down.

An explosion was better than the quiet Blaine was drowning in.

He needed _something._

“We _both_ played an active role in...in what happened,” Blaine pressed on, anger and frustration and misplaced regret coiling in his stomach and coursing out through his bloodstream, fueling his words. “You are no better than me here, you got that? If anything, I could easily say _you_ were putting in most of the effort, considering you were so insistent on-”

Kurt let out a choked sob, heaving deep from within his chest, and he clasped his hand over his mouth quickly at the sound of it, curling further into himself. It effectively shocked Blaine into silence, and he began to deflate, his anger quickly replaced by guilt for ever feeling it, for getting mad at Kurt in the exact way he _didn’t_ want directed at himself.

Not only was he a cheater, but he was a hypocrite, too.

He was quickly becoming everything he never wanted to be, completely unrecognizable, completely paralyzed by all that had already happened and the fear of how far it could go.

“Hey… I’m sorry,” Blaine said shakily, nearly reaching his arm out across the distance between them to touch Kurt, but it fell limp in his lap as he quickly thought better of it. “I...I shouldn’t have said that.”

 _I can’t blame you because it was exactly what I asked for,_ he wanted to add. _I wanted it. I might have even needed it._

“I’m scared, okay? I’m fucking terrified,” Kurt broke out, voice barely above a whisper, striking Blaine right in the heart. “I...I’m supposed to hate you. I _do_ hate you, or at least I-I thought I did, but I-I felt more last night than I’ve felt in years, even with my own _husband,_ and it doesn’t make sense, _nothing_ makes sense, and I-”

“Me too,” Blaine blurted out, still wanting desperately to reach for Kurt, to wrap an arm around him or hold his hand at the very least, to offer support the best way he knew how and keep him from spiraling, but he stopped himself. He knew Kurt wouldn’t want it. “It… It was a lot for me too, and I’m confused a-and worried, and I just… I just feel like a _cheater.”_

Kurt visibly flinched at the word, turning his head to look at Blaine for the first time that morning. His eyes were tired, red-rimmed and a stormy gray, empty in a way Blaine had never seen them, in a way they never should have been.

Blaine instantly wanted - _needed -_ to find a way to breathe life into those eyes again, though he didn’t understand why.

“What do we do?” Kurt asked softly, his voice cracked and broken.

Taking a moment to consider, Blaine looked down at his hands, trying to think, trying desperately to ignore the fact that those same hands touched and held and _grabbed_ Kurt, pulled him closer, _faster, harder, never close enough, don’t stop, please never stop._

Fuck.

_What do we do?_

He was at a loss.

Everything, every bit of Blaine's world was overwhelming him - from the man beside him to his own aching body to the memories swirling his mind, all threatening to overtake him. 

He needed to get out, needed a change of scenery, needed desperately to clear his head and find himself again, research study guidelines be damned.

He was going to lose his mind, and considering what had already happened, he didn't trust himself to give into the breakdown.

Not around Kurt.

“I am going to get out of here for a while,” Blaine decided, forcing himself to give Kurt a small smile, a feeble attempt at reassurance, at being strong for the both of them when all he wanted to do was fall apart himself. “It’ll give us both some time to think, okay? And then we’ll have the rest of the week to figure this out.”

“I… Okay.” 

It wasn’t much.

It was barely _anything,_ actually, and Kurt was looking out at the city again and avoiding Blaine’s smile, but it was something.

And it wasn’t a fight, and it wasn’t a protest or an argument, either.

“But Kurt?” Blaine prompted quietly, only just beginning to notice the chill in the air, the goosebumps on his own bare arms, his own bare torso. “We _are_ going to have to talk. I...I don’t know what the best outcome here can be for either of our marriages, but i-if we want to find it, we need to work together.” _Please talk to me. Please don’t keep hating me._

_I can't handle you hating me anymore._

“Yeah- Yeah. I know.”

All Blaine could do was trust Kurt and hope Kurt would trust him in return, against all odds.

For once, there wasn’t a single thing in Blaine’s life that he could guarantee.

* * *

Kurt was coming out of his skin.

After Blaine left, he tried to clean, but every surface was already spotless - he knew the only mess was in the bedroom, in his bed, but he couldn’t bear to step back in, couldn’t imagine facing the irrefutable evidence of what they had done.

He tried to organize, but there was a book on the coffee table that he knew he hadn’t taken off of the shelf, and Adam was never home long enough to do something as menial as _read,_ meaning it had to have been Blaine - Blaine had taken the book, and Blaine had read the book, and Blaine was _everywhere,_ all over his apartment and in his fucking _bed_ and in his head and in the scratch marks on his back and shoulders and biceps and in the ache in his muscles and _how had it all happened so fast, why now, why them, why him?_

He tried to go somewhere, _anywhere,_ but he couldn’t because he didn’t know when Blaine would be back, and Blaine didn’t have a key, and so Kurt would need to let him in, and he didn’t even have Blaine’s phone number to _ask_ because _that_ was the reality of how little they were supposed to mean to one another _,_ and he didn’t know if he even wanted Blaine to come back or just slip out of his life without another word.

_Please come back, don’t leave me with this, I can’t do it on my own. I can barely think or breathe or move._

He tried to bake, but he didn’t have the ingredients for anything that sounded even remotely palatable, and his stomach was turning, anyways, coiled in tight, sick knots.

He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t, every inhale reminding him of his own gasps, buried deep inside of Blaine, every exhale reminding him of Blaine’s whimpers and begs and earth-shattering _moans, god._

He couldn’t get it out of his head, not a single bit of it, not a single sound or touch or moment, not after the first shower or even the second, scrubbing his body red and raw under scalding hot water.

Nothing was stripping him of the way Blaine made him _feel -_ as every moment passed, the realization settled deeper and deeper within him that nothing could.

He wondered where Blaine went, if it was helping him, if he was finding the answers he was seeking.

Kurt knew he _could_ leave. There was nothing truly stopping him from going out for a run or a cup of overpriced coffee or maybe to the High Line, and he could easily be back before Blaine, and if he wasn’t, Blaine could wait in the hallway, couldn’t he?

Something was stopping him.

Something was making him _wait_ for Blaine, making him feel lost and raw and untethered without Blaine biting back and directing him and putting him in his fucking place, and he hated it.

He should hate _Blaine_ more than ever. He should _despise_ Blaine for doing exactly what Kurt knew he would from the moment he saw Blaine on this doorstep - infiltrating his home and his life and tearing it apart from the inside out in a matter of days, a matter of _hours,_ really, because apparently Kurt was just that _weak._

_Pitiful._

But Kurt couldn’t hate him. He couldn’t hate Blaine when Blaine was _right -_ Kurt _had_ played a very active role in all of it, in initiating the start of it, in kissing Blaine and _touching_ Blaine and stripping him of his clothes and pushing into him and fucking him into the mattress under the guise of pulling Blaine apart when Kurt was really losing himself the entire time, _no._

He couldn’t hate Blaine when he was suddenly so _dependent_ on him in a way that terrified him, when Blaine made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years, when Blaine single handedly had the power to ruin him.

Kurt needed to be there the moment Blaine returned - _if_ he returned. _Please._

But he couldn’t breathe.

And then he caught sight of the flowers on the table, the flowers from _Blaine,_ partway through slicing a stupid _apple,_ of all things, and he grasped onto the counter with a white-knuckled grip, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of all of it.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours that he stood there, staring, gaping, blinking and blinking and blinking, his heart pounding in his chest and sounding loudly in his ears, his body heaving with each and every botched attempt at a breath, the uncertainty of his future screaming like uncontrollable fire through his veins.

“Kurt, Kurt, you have to breathe.”

The voice was soft in his ear, warm breath tickling the shell of it, and there were hands, wide and large and firm on his shoulders, grounding Kurt to the floor and the earth and back into his very body, just barely keeping him from launching off into the ether.

It was Blaine - of course it was, and of course Kurt had left the door unlocked, wide open and vulnerable for Blaine to just waltz right in and _take_ him, stupid, weak, _shameful._

Kurt couldn’t understand how Blaine had broken his walls down so easily, even after years of digging at one another and showing one another up and glaring and poking and prodding, and he understood even less how it _didn’t_ feel invasive in the slightest.

He didn't understand why his only source of comfort in recent memory was coming from Blaine's hands, first all over his body and now just on his shoulders, now just simple and still and _everything._

In fact, those hands on his shoulders and the vague warmth of a body present behind him were the only things keeping Kurt from spiraling entirely, the only things that were succeeding in bringing him back to the earth as he regained control of his body, of his breathing, of his senses.

“Where… Where did you go?” Kurt wanted to know, not knowing why he cared, only knowing his voice and his lungs and his hands were trembling, his fingers were still gripping the edge of the countertop, his eyes were squeezed shut, and he felt so _tense,_ the feeling wound impossibly tightly and coursing through every fiber of his being, threatening to tear out of his skin.

“Oh, I, um… I took a water taxi out to the Statue of Liberty.”

Kurt almost wanted to laugh, barely swallowed down the sound that threatened to ripple out of his mouth, even though it wasn’t funny. But time really _had_ gotten away from him if Blaine had made it all the way out there, and it made no sense, and he didn’t understand _why,_ of all places, of all things to do.

There was so much he didn’t know about Blaine, so much he didn’t understand.

There was so much he had wrong all along.

Instead, Kurt just nodded, leaving his head hung low towards the counter, eyes still closed, focused on his breathing.

It was beginning to come easier, but it would never be right, never be enough - not in his apartment, not in his shared home with his goddamn _husband,_ not while he was standing with a single wall between him and where he cheated in his own marital bed.

Not with Blaine’s hands on his shoulders, anchoring him to the universe in the strangest, most necessary way.

“When I was out there, I was thinking,” Blaine said softly, hands slowly falling away and fingertips barely ghosting Kurt's arms in the process - too soon, though they never should have been there, touching Kurt, in the first place. “The pamphlet from the psych study recommended taking a...a road trip together as a way to bond and get to know each other. And, um, my parents actually have a cabin, up on a lake in Maine, but they only ever go in the summer, so I thought…”

He trailed off, possibly out of nerves, possibly out of something else, and Kurt was terrified to turn around, terrified to meet Blaine’s eyes, terrified of what he would see in them, what he would find in himself, what he would _feel._

Terrified of how badly he _wanted_ to turn around and _why._

But Kurt breathed in, and he breathed out, and he did it anyway, coming to lean back against the counter, forcing himself to look at the man who changed everything. 

Blaine looked as broken and lost and _vulnerable_ as Kurt felt, offering him an odd sort of comforting kinship that never should have existed in the first place, that felt like a lifeline amidst the chaos all the same.

And there was a question in his eyes, too, in the tired lines of his face, making Kurt remember the words he said, the idea he prompted.

Kurt's answer was obvious, and the way Blaine knew exactly what he needed didn’t go unnoticed, instead settling firmly in the back of Kurt’s mind, a curiosity he was far from ready to confront.

“Yes. Please,” he breathed out, feeling unable to stand on his own two feet for a minute longer, especially not in the apartment that was once everything he dreamed of. It was suddenly all wrong, suddenly all shifted, everything in the room and in his life and in the world.

“We'll go in the morning," Blaine said, voice like a promise, and that was it.

They were going to Maine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! :-)


	5. Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, hello! thank you as always for your very kind comments, it's so exciting to me how much people are enjoying this! I definitely didn't expect it!
> 
> let's hit the road, and I'll see you next weekend :-)

Over five hours.

Over five hours in the car, riding in the passenger seat next to Blaine, not including the headache-inducing traffic trying to get out of the city, not including stops for lunch and for gas.

Probably more like seven hours, all said and done.

Kurt felt carsick.

He felt trapped.

He was essentially being held hostage in a moving vehicle, a mere arm’s length away from the man in control of it, from the man in control of too much, of Kurt, of _change._

Kurt hated not being in control.

He hated change, too, and he hated the unknown, but apparently his feelings about those things weren’t stopping them from happening.

In fact, they were probably making them worse.

Either way, the gate was wide open, and the train had left the station, and the rocket had launched itself on a dark and winding and uncharted trajectory, nothing guaranteed, nothing understood.

And Kurt was just along for the ride.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and he tried to push away his fears, the man beside him oddly in the center of each and every one of them.

Every single fear, doubt, worry revolved around Blaine, orbiting like he was the sun.

Not Kurt’s husband, not even Kurt himself - _Blaine._

That scared Kurt most of all.

Blaine was being nice, though - _really_ nice, in fact, calm and considerate and seemingly holding himself together a whole lot better than Kurt was managing to, even though Blaine was in the exact same position, facing the same unknowns, facing the inevitable breakdown of it all.

He had asked Kurt what his coffee order was that morning, and when he returned from picking up his car from its parking garage, a perfectly warmed, perfectly chocolatey cup was sitting in the passenger seat cup holder, just waiting for Kurt. Blaine had gotten out to put Kurt’s luggage in the trunk for him, too, and he didn’t even comment on how Kurt overpacked or roll his eyes like Adam always did.

Blaine kept the car’s stereo on a low, unintrusive volume, a respectable mix of new and old songs on what must have been a playlist thrumming through the speakers, and he hummed along softly, tapping his fingers as he drove, never getting frustrated with the traffic, never slamming on the brakes.

Never doing anything but holding himself together.

And being nice - _so_ nice, even to Kurt.

 _Especially_ to Kurt.

It didn’t make sense, but Kurt didn’t have it in him to be jealous or to start anything, either. 

It was pleasant, in a way, just existing with someone, breathing the same air and hearing the same sounds and heading to the same destination.

If he blocked out everything else, after all.

They were over halfway into their trip, bellies full of sandwiches and car tank full of gas, long ago settled into the surprisingly comfortable silence that covered them like a blanket when Kurt decided he needed answers.

He gave up on trying to keep it out of his mind.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Kurt wanted to know, fidgeting restlessly, nervously with his hands in his lap. His words sounded too loud to his own ears, cutting harshly through the quiet, shaking his confidence. “I-I don’t mean to blurt it out like that, but… How is this so easy for you?”

Blaine was quiet for awhile, long enough for Kurt to question whether he had really spoken aloud at all, but he stayed patient, watching Blaine’s fingers flex against the steering wheel, his grip tightening and contracting, knuckles whitening again and again.

Kurt knew right away that he was wrong, that none of it was any easier for Blaine.

He was an actor, too, after all.

“It’s… It’s not,” Blaine finally confirmed, voice initially caught in his throat from lack of use. It was only then that Kurt realized Blaine had stopped humming along to the radio, and he hadn’t been humming for a long while.

It had been nice, oddly. Kurt wondered why he stopped.

“But, um,” Blaine continued, jaw tensing briefly. “I… I don’t know. It just feels like what I should do. Be nice to you, I mean. Wouldn’t that make it easier than being at each other’s throats the whole time?”

He had a point.

Kurt had hated Blaine for so many years, had felt so much passionate fire in his belly at the very sight of him across a room, but suddenly, it was like he didn’t have it in him anymore.

Even though Blaine had done more damage to his life than ever, it was different - they had _both_ done it, and they were both affected, and they were both responsible.

They were on the same side, the only two in the world that could be, at least for the remainder of the week.

He would be a fool to push Blaine away on top of everything else - it was miracle enough he hadn’t done it already.

“I guess so,” he agreed softly, turning his head to look out the window, watching as the evergreens whirred past them, all blurred forest greens and dark browns, unaffected by even coldest the chill of winter turning into spring, year after year, always the same.

Kurt envied the trees.

Just a handful of days ago, he was just like them - unaffected by even the loneliest nights and roughest fights with his husband, year after year, always the same.

It was all different now, and although the breaking point of it all was the _most_ Kurt had felt in ages, it was all too wrong, too intense, too _much_ for him to even begin to see the good in it, god forbid find some sort of potential for _improvement_ in the change.

The best he could do was stop fighting, stop provoking, stop lashing out, and so he stayed quiet instead, and he let Blaine drive, and he let Blaine take him up to the lake for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

Kurt loved control, but he felt too thrown off to regain it, too shaken, too _tired._

He knew full well how unlike him it was to let anyone new in, let alone _Blaine,_ let alone with such intensity and power and _weight,_ but he didn’t have it in him to care about that, either.

Even though he still didn’t understand why Blaine was bothering - they were both in the musical theater world, and so didn’t Blaine know that easiness was overrated, if not impossible to come by?

Didn’t he have to fight tooth and nail for every bit of success he had, for every bit of normalcy and stability, just like Kurt had?

Or maybe he didn’t.

Blaine always won, after all. He won the most promising and talented students, and he won callbacks, and he won praise and acclaim from the highest members of their shared network, even once by Carmen Tibbadeaux, Kurt’s own mentor from his undergraduate days at NYADA.

And then Kurt remembered all too well why he hated Blaine in the first place.

Kurt had always had to work twice as hard for half as much. It had always been that way, from having to push for even a single-line solo feature during choir competitions to initially being rejected from NYADA, even after what he thought was a flawless, revolutionary audition.

And even after years in the city, even after succeeding at NYADA well enough to stay on as faculty, it was still the same - never quite making it, never landing a role, never getting the students he really had his eyes on.

He had never dreamed of being a teacher.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Blaine said out of nowhere, as if reading Kurt’s mind, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Kurt wanted to laugh, wanted to roll his eyes and brush it off, but something about it had shaken him, like Blaine really _did_ know what he was thinking.

Like Blaine _got_ him in a way that didn’t make sense in the slightest.

“Why should you?” he asked dryly instead, his eyes glued to the trees, the sky, the highway, anywhere but Blaine. “You always come out ahead of me either way.”

“Kurt…”

Blaine let out a slow sigh, deep and heavy like any of it actually _mattered_ to him, like he actually cared.

Like he actually wanted Kurt to like him.

“I know, I know. You worked hard for what you have. Your look and your voice are more versatile, anyway. I get it.”

 _Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,_ he wanted to say. _Doesn’t mean you’re better than me. Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve good things, too._

He didn’t say any of it.

“It’s not that,” Blaine sighed, seemingly at war with himself for a handful of moments before evidently deciding to continue on. “Well, I-I guess that is part of it. But you’ve made a name for yourself, too. I didn’t realize the program at NYADA _could_ get any stronger than when I was in college, but you’ve managed to do it.”

Blaine wasn’t wrong - Kurt _had_ pushed to at least vary the offerings at NYADA, attempting to at least celebrate diversity and eccentricity over sticking to the cut-and-dry standards, and it had been a battle, but it was one he was beginning to see results from. Audiences were bigger at his studio’s showcases, and programs had more varied offerings, and people liked it.

He was just trying to give his students the support he’d wished he had, back when he was green and bright-eyed and bushy tailed like they were, not yet confined to a box.

So yes, Blaine was right. Kurt _was_ good for NYADA, and he was doing well, and he was stable and secure and completely on track to earn tenure as soon as he became eligible for it, whether it was his dream or not.

But he was surprised to hear it all the same, surprised Blaine had even really noticed..

“I don’t need a pep talk about my career, Blaine,” Kurt said, having attempted to brush off the uncomfortable mix of feelings and failing. Looking back over at Blaine again, he settled on one particular feeling instead - annoyance.

Annoyance was easy. 

Annoyance was safe.

“I-I know,” Blaine sighed again, voice weary. “That’s not what I’m trying to do, I just...”

“What is it, then?” Kurt wanted to know, biting out the question a bit harsher than Blaine probably deserved, but his patience wearing thin, and he felt emotional, and he felt _confused._

He didn’t know how much more confusion he could take.

“I admire you, alright?” Blaine burst out, knuckles white around the steering wheel again, his left leg shifting uncomfortably. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Your determination is… It’s kind of terrifying to be on the wrong end of it. But I...I guess I’ve always thought you deserve more than the hand you were dealt. You _are_ talented, Kurt. _So_ talented, and I know you don’t need me to tell you that, but I swear, if you found the right role in the right show… You’d be unstoppable.”

_Wow._

It was nearly too much for Kurt to handle, too much to process. 

It was like the world had shifted, tilted on its axis, and all at once, Blaine was on his side, on his team, seeing him and advocating for him and _admiring_ him.

And if the world was shifting, it was like Kurt was being left behind, at risk of being catapulted into the stratosphere entirely.

“I thought the Cabaret revival would be that for me,” he admitted softly in a moment of weakness, resolve and annoyance crumbling by the second, though he figured Blaine already knew. 

“I… Look, I don’t know what they were looking for there.” Blaine shook his head, tossing Kurt a quick glance and a small, sympathetic smile. “I mean, they went through the trouble of bringing me back for the Emcee, but I didn’t get past the first callback round, anyway. That was… That was a pretty tough loss.”

“Oh.”

After his rejection and word of Blaine’s advancement, Kurt had forcibly ignored any and all news about Cabaret - but of course Blaine hadn’t gotten the role, either. Considering how oddly small and concentric the theater circuit was, Kurt still would have found out if Blaine had won it.

He had never considered it, though, let alone that it would have been a loss for Blaine, too.

He had never considered that Blaine was just as hopeful and motivated and _human_ as Kurt was.

“Yeah,” Blaine said awkwardly, drawing out the syllable. “But that show? It was just a revival, not like it was career-making material.” He looked over at Kurt again, smiled at Kurt again, made him feel...something. “You would just _thrive_ in something new, something really fresh and out there and risky. That’s how I’ve always pictured your big break, anyway.”

“You’ve thought about this before?” he asked before he could think twice about it, nearly trembling under the weight of how _strange_ this all was.

Strangest of all was how _nice_ it felt to be known, to be valued, to be _understood,_ and the fact that it was Blaine just made it _better,_ somehow, and not in a way that felt like Kurt was winning or getting ahead.

Just in a way that felt like he mattered, like there was good in him still worth figuring out and discovering. It was like Blaine had found a light inside of Kurt that Kurt feared had long ago gone out, and instead of extinguishing it, Blaine wanted to make it stronger, make _him_ stronger.

“Sure I have,” Blaine shrugged, as if it were obvious. “You’re a hard person to ignore, Kurt. It’s going to happen for you, it’s only a matter of how.”

 _How do you see me so clearly when no one else does?_ Kurt wanted to ask, curling his hands into tight fists at his sides and willing away the tears that embarrassingly prickled behind his eyes. _It’s been so long since I felt like a real person. I got used to it because I was doing okay, and as long as I could keep going I could keep handling it, but what if stability is overrated?_

 _What if there’s a whole world of feelings and hoping and experiences that I’m missing?_ he wanted to ask.

 _Would you be able to show it to me?_ he wanted to know. _Would it be okay if I wanted you to?_

“Thank you,” he murmured instead of saying any of it, exhaling in a shaky, cleansing rush.

Kurt had carefully practiced living in the present for so many years in an attempt to keep himself from dreaming too big, from questioning anything, from rocking the painstakingly-built boat of his life that he had established. 

Sitting there in the passenger seat, watching the road signs as they crossed into Maine, Kurt realized it was exactly what he needed to do, even if it was for all different reasons.

_Stay in the moment, keep your head down, don’t let the unknown freak you out._

He would be spending the rest of the week isolated in nature with Blaine, after all. If having Blaine in his life was threatening to change everything, maybe that was just what Kurt needed to let happen.

Maybe it would all sort itself out, and the answer for approaching their drunken night would reveal itself, and everything would be okay.

Maybe it was overly hopeful, optimistic in a way he hadn’t been in years, but he was confined by the car, soon by the lake house, and he was confined by the duration of the experiment.

And so Kurt breathed, and he relaxed, and he even allowed himself to hum along with the radio, earning a shining smile from Blaine that felt like more of a prize than it should have.

There was no use in trying to do anything else.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set by the time they made it in to Sebago Lake, casting a golden light that reflected over the water and the remaining half-melted clumps of snow on the ground, making everything seem just a little magical, just a little unreal.

It was nostalgic for Blaine, and a pleasant warmth filled him and settled in his bones the closer they got to the house, even as they stopped for groceries at the run-of-the-mill store they passed on the way. He couldn’t help but remember countless summer trips up to Maine as a child, long road trips with the promise of swimming and kayaking and roasted marshmallows, outside in the thick of it every moment.

They were some of his favorite childhood memories, or at least some of the simplest, when his biggest issue was fighting with his brother Cooper over the last hotdog or a peeling sunburn on his nose or shoulders. 

But of course, as family traditions do, trips to the lake became fewer and farther between as they grew up, Cooper first, and then Blaine, and he hadn’t been up to the lakehouse in years, even though he lived closer to it than ever.

In fact, he’d never even brought Dave - he just hadn’t ever thought about it.

The second they pulled into the driveway, Blaine knew it was exactly where he needed to be, and he hoped it would be the same for Kurt, too.

“Wow,” Kurt breathed from beside him, looking out the windshield and up at the house. “Your family must be loaded.”

He wasn’t wrong. 

Blaine’s dad came from a long line of successful businessmen, working their way up to the top in professions Blaine never quite understood, had never quite been able to wrap his head around. And though he had absolutely reaped the benefits of it growing up, attending private school until he’d begged to transfer to public for something new his junior year of high school, taking horseback riding lessons and playing polo, and, of course, spending summers at the lakehouse, Blaine didn’t have a trust fund, and he didn’t receive a bunch of money from his family every month, unlike what most people assumed.

His dad had wanted Blaine and Cooper to work for what they had, to make him proud by achieving their _own_ success, and as frustrating as it sometimes was in Blaine’s college years, he had grown to prefer it that way.

He didn’t necessarily want obligations and forced ties to his family, anyways, particularly not his father.

But instead of trying to explain any of that to Kurt, Blaine just let out an embarrassed laugh, ducking his head briefly.

“They actually renovated the place a couple years back,” he explained, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “I haven’t seen it in person yet, but it looked great in the pictures.”

Kurt was quiet as they got out of the car and unpacked their luggage, but Blaine let him be, focusing instead on the opportunity to breathe in the cool, crisp air. 

“You haven’t been here in awhile, then,” Kurt mused in a delayed response as they walked towards the house, tugging his suitcase behind him. “I’d be here all the time if I were you.”

“Now that we’re here, I feel silly that it’s been so long,” Blaine admitted, and he meant it. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he hadn’t taken advantage of the set of keys his parents gave him when he graduated college, nearly seven years prior. 

Just setting foot on the gravel driveway, soggy, dead leaves under his feet, he already never wanted to leave.

The feeling only intensified as he unlocked the door and led Kurt inside - the place _was_ beautiful, fully renovated from floor to ceiling, but it was nearly unrecognizable, completely different from his childhood days. Long gone were the couches where he’d spent countless movie nights, the rug with a permanent red wine stain from when he and Cooper were wrestling and knocked into their mom’s glass on the coffee table, and the cheesy, campy lake decor was replaced by something much more modern, more understated.

A part of him missed that, longed for the comfort he used to find in the warmth of the memories, but another part of him was glad it was different. Either way, it was still cozy, and it was still warm in a way Blaine could see himself sinking into.

He hoped it would be the same for Kurt.

Kurt was wide-eyed and quiet as Blaine led him around the house under the guise of a tour, though it was all new to him, too, and he was attempting to take it all in just the same. The clean lines of the kitchen and bathrooms, the wide floor-to-ceiling windows crowned by exposed natural wood beams, the huge stone fireplace at the center of it all - it was all incredible, a magnified, elevated version of the summer home he remembered.

He ended up offering the master bedroom to Kurt, drawn to staying in what was once his own bedroom for some semblance of familiarity, as silly as it seemed. Kurt accepted it gracefully without question, which Blaine appreciated, and there they stood, right in front of the king sized bed, expansive and foreboding in all its pillow-and-blanketed glory.

Kurt was staring at it, looking intently at the patterns in the duvet, and Blaine realized he was staring at Kurt, mouth dry, hands clenched at his sides, air thick and uncomfortable around them.

“Well, um,” Blaine cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he snapped himself out of it. “I’ll...let you get settled, then, and I’ll go start on dinner? There’s a, uh, fire pit out by the dock. I thought we could go down there later if it isn’t too cold. I mean, if you want.”

He felt so silly, tripping over his words and speaking so hesitantly in a way he hadn’t done in years. Things had been so oddly _okay,_ particularly since their unexpected conversation in the car, and Blaine’s confidence was evidently chosen to fall by the wayside in favor of clinging onto the tentative truce they had struck up.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Kurt agreed with a small smile, evidently none the wiser to Blaine’s stumbling.

Easy as that.

Something about Kurt’s smile soothed Blaine, propelling him back downstairs to the kitchen to sort through their groceries for a quick and easy dinner. Midway through dicing a tomato, he found himself entranced by the view of the lake out the wide picture windows, a deep blue stillness against the warmth and grays of the sky, the forest greens of the woods and the browns of the dirt.

For the first time in what felt like days, maybe even longer, Blaine truly exhaled, breath slow and cleansing, feeling the tension dissipate all the way down through his toes.

He knew he shouldn’t have been feeling it, didn’t deserve to, but he allowed himself to lean into the release for the moment, just for the rest of the week.

If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d make it to Sunday.

* * *

Kurt took his time unpacking his suitcase, changing into a warmer, cozier sweater and even considering a shower before settling on just washing his face.

He figured he couldn’t take too long - he didn’t want to be rude.

And oddly enough, he didn’t even want to stall. Instead, he found himself _wanting_ to go back downstairs, not just drawn by the pang of hunger beginning to nag in his stomach but by the desire to not be alone.

It was easier to blame it on just not wanting to be alone with his thoughts, rather than attempting to confront the idea that he genuinely wanted to be in Blaine’s company, though Kurt knew in the back of his mind that both reasons were true.

He wasn’t sure what that meant.

Even as early as the first sight of the lake, Kurt felt like he was entering some sort of alternate dimension where things were slower, calmer, almost less real. Time was unimportant, phone service nearly nonexistent even on his little temporary flip phone.

The fact that it was the offseason only added to the feeling, cars few and far between on the winding roads, boats firmly parked in their docks instead of sailing out onto the water, most houses dark and locked up.

All there was was the lake, the trees, and Blaine.

It made it easier to live in the moment, to fall into the feeling and not _worry_ about everything.

It made it easier to not think about his husband, to not think about that inevitable conversation, confession, possible _ending_ of all of it in just a matter of days.

It made it easier to slip on his thickest pair of socks and pad downstairs, following the scent of warm tomato sauce and herbs down to the kitchen, where Blaine stood, sliding chopped tomatoes into a pan.

“You’re making the sauce from scratch?” Kurt couldn’t help but ask, surprised.

He wasn’t sure if Blaine knew if he was there, if he had heard Kurt coming downstairs, but he didn’t seem startled in the slightest, merely glancing over his shoulder with a small smile on his face. 

He looked comfortable, relaxed - _happy,_ even, standing there in front of the oven. 

Kurt had only ever seen Blaine as a competitor, a villain in Kurt’s story as opposed to a main character of his own, but just in the past few days, he had begun to see Blaine in so many more ways, each more complex and human than the last.

This one was the simplest, but it was quickly becoming Kurt’s favorite.

If a favorite version of Blaine was something he could have, anyways - but it wasn't.

“Oh, not completely,” Blaine shook his head, stirring the bubbling sauce on the stovetop. “I, um. I like adding fresh tomatoes and basil to the regular jarred sauce. I know it’s kind of weird, I can heat up a separate pan for you if you-”

“No, I like it, too,” Kurt interjected quickly to keep him from rambling, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned against the counter, watching. “It’s a trick I learned from my mom, actually.” _Reminds me of home._

“I learned it from my grandma.” Blaine looked back over at him, practically beaming with a wide, toothy smile that warmed Kurt down to his toes, the sun in every way.

Kurt was unsettled by it, along with the abrupt desire to know more about Blaine, to know _everything,_ to ask about his family and summers growing up there at the lake, to find out if they had any other odd quirks or preferences in common.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asked in place of any of those questions, still favoring safety over much else.

He didn’t quite trust himself, anyways - not after the night that changed everything.

_Did he ever really trust himself?_

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. What kind of host would I be if I put my guest to work, anyways?” Blaine teased, throwing Kurt a playful, casual wink.

Yes, this was definitely the best side of Blaine that he had seen - just because it was the easiest to deal with, Kurt told himself.

Not because it was the most pleasant, the most comfortable.

Definitely not because it made Kurt feel at home, despite any and all of the impossibly convoluted circumstances.

It wasn’t until Kurt was halfway through his bowl of pasta, seated catty-corner to Blaine at the kitchen island, their feet occasionally bumping as they swung, not touching the floor due to the height of the barstools, that he realized.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him.

* * *

It was funny, almost, how easy it was to coexist with Kurt.

Their dinner was a quiet affair other than brief comments about the food - a _thank you for this, Blaine_ and a _it’s nothing, really, no big deal -_ and Blaine found himself settling into it nicely, though he was so much more used to dinners in front of the TV or at sports bars, lively and fun but nowhere near intimate.

There was a lot to be found in the silence, Blaine was quickly coming to realize, including a lot of comfort, particularly when shared with someone else.

Blaine was no stranger to ease, to simplicity. Things had always been easy with Dave, of course, but this was different, an undercurrent of _more_ running underneath the surface all the while, holding him and Kurt close in the thick of it.

He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse - just different.

Either way, he allowed himself to enjoy it for the moment, and when Kurt seamlessly began cleaning up after they ate so Blaine could pull on his boots and go down to the dock to set up the bonfire, Blaine appreciated it that much more.

Easy, all of it easy.

The air was crisp, and Blaine tilted his head up to the stars and closed his eyes as he breathed in deeply, allowing the chill to seep into his lungs, settling in his diaphragm.

In the dark of the night, there was no one but Blaine as he collected the wood and the coal, no sound but the crickets chirping and wind whispering in the trees, no light but the twinkle of stars and faint glow from inside the house.

There was no Dave, no Adam, not even Kurt - for a moment, Blaine felt like the only person in the world, stripped down to the raw essence of what it meant to be alive as he lit the match and caught a flame, just as infinite others had done before him in what felt like infinite years prior. 

He was so small and so solitary, so unimportant and all there was, everything and nothing all at once.

Blaine heard Kurt before he saw him, his footsteps thudding on the wooden dock, then tracking through the dirt. 

“Hi,” he greeted as Kurt took a seat on the log beside him, nearly shoulder to shoulder. He was close, closer than Blaine expected him to be, but he appreciated Kurt’s warmth and just his presence, too.

“Cold out here,” Kurt murmured in reply, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, warming his face in the fire and flexing his fingers out to do the same with his hands. 

It really was a chilly night even for mid-March, even for Maine. Blaine felt goosebumps covering his arms underneath his sweater, briefly wished he had thought to grab a coat like Kurt did - he always ran warm, and with the fire, it should have been enough, but Blaine felt like his nerve endings were on edge, susceptible to even the slightest breeze, the slightest movement. 

“Is it too much? We can go in,” he offered, 

“No, no, it’s… It’s nice.”

And it was. 

They settled into a comfortable quiet, the crackling of the fire and gentle rustling of the trees the nearly only sounds, just like before, but it was different now - Kurt was there, too, and Blaine could hear him breathing, soft puffs of air just shy of visible in the cold. Blaine found it surprisingly pleasant, just sitting there together, feeling Kurt there beside him, steady and constant and real.

“I remember spending so many nights out here growing up,” Blaine said, poking at a renegade coal with a branch to stoke the fire. “I was always in it for the s’mores, of course, but my brother, Cooper, used to always try and scare me with ghost stories.” He laughed at the memory, shaking his head fondly. “I was a pretty gullible kid. He got me every time.”

 _Things were so simple back then,_ he wanted to say. _Ghosts are the least of my worries now._

“I always tried to avoid nature,” Kurt admitted, shrugging a little. “I mean, you can probably guess that just by looking at me. But my dad tried to take me camping once, about a year or so after my mom died, and other than being afraid of getting my clothes dirty, I just remember being so _mesmerized_ by the fire. I didn’t even care about the marshmallows.”

_After my mom died._

Blaine wanted to ask, wanted to know, even briefly considered offering the same meaningless condolences that always helped the speaker more than the listener, but it all felt wrong, too invasive, too impersonal.

He decided to file it away for another opportunity, perhaps, if ever it were to arise.

He would have loved to hear about Kurt’s mother, after all, but they were still practically strangers - a step up from rivals, Blaine supposed, but still not close enough.

_Maybe someday. Maybe soon._

“Didn’t care about the marshmallows?” he echoed in feigned shock instead, knocking their shoulders together. “That’s camping sacrilege, Kurt!”

“I know, I know,” Kurt laughed softly, cracking a brief grin as Blaine looked over at him, though his face softened again quickly, practically glowing in the firelight. “But I couldn’t look away. It was like everything out there in the woods was so quiet and dark, but the fire was so bright and warm and _alive._ It felt like the center of the universe.”

“I like that,” Blaine murmured, reaching out to warm his palm near the flames.

He _did_ feel alive, feeling much warmer and more pleasant by the minute from head to toe, despite the chill in the air, but sitting there next to Kurt, he couldn’t help but wonder if the fire was truly the reason for it at all.

“My dad asked me what I saw in it,” Kurt said softly, and it felt like the words came out of nowhere, like Blaine had lost track of when they had last spoken aloud.

“In the fire?” Blaine asked once he regained his bearings, scuffing his shoes in the dirt in an attempt to anchor himself to the earth.

“Yeah. I don’t really remember what I told him. I think just something about the color and light, nothing too exciting, but I was just a kid.” Kurt paused, and Blaine could hear him breathing in, long and slow, followed by an even longer exhale. Blaine couldn’t help but copy, and it felt _good,_ the slight hint of smoke filling his lungs making him feel just a little wild and alive, always alive, maybe more than ever. 

“I remember the feeling, though,” Kurt continued. “Like there was so much power in it, the way we were barely confining something that had so much power to either destroy or illuminate, or both. I was terrified of that.” 

“What do you see in it now?” Blaine wanted to know, voice barely above a whisper. It all felt so important, so tentative - for once not in a way that felt fragile, but in a way that felt like they were on a brink of something greater, on the precipice of a change they could trust.

“A lot of things.” 

Kurt went quiet then, shifting beside him, and he ended up a little closer to Blaine as he sat upright, their shoulders bumping again but then staying together, just barely touching. Blaine gave him the time to breathe, to think, to decide before speaking, knowing whatever Kurt was about to say was something he needed to get off his chest and something Blaine needed to hear, too. 

“It doesn’t seem as scary anymore, for one thing,” Kurt said softly, looking intently at the glow. “But I know better now how strong it can be, too, and it can so easily become out of our control. I want to say I see that destruction in its power, and usually I would, but… I don’t know. Right now I see possibility more than anything else.”

“Possibility,” Blaine echoed, watching the fire flicker, swirling oranges and yellows and reds curling up into smoke that dissipated into the darkness. He had never thought about it before, had never taken the time to notice, but Kurt was right.

It did feel like the center of the universe, and it was just the two of them there, warmed and illuminated and held by the flames.

But at the same time, with just a rogue spark caught on the wrong surface, it could ignite into a wildfire, setting a blaze through carefully-constructed civilization and memories and existence.

Powerful, easy to contain in theory, special and full of _possibility,_ but just a moment's notice from spiraling out of control down a path of irreversible damage.

It felt like _them._

“Do you wish you were here with your husband?” Kurt asked, the question surprising Blaine, making him feel oddly dirty in its contrast to his thoughts.

“No, not really,” Blaine admitted, equally surprised to find that he meant it. “I don’t really know why, but… I’m good with where I am right now.”

 _I haven’t thought about him all night,_ he wanted to add. _You and I could be the only two people in the world, and I wouldn’t know the difference. In fact, I kind of wish we were. It might make things easier, because I’m scared of how quickly I could get used to this._

“Even who you’re with?” It sounded like Kurt was teasing, and he likely meant it that way, all considering, but if Blaine didn’t know any better, he would have thought there was a hint of insecurity to the question, a shred of doubt.

“Even who I’m with,” Blaine agreed, his answer the same whether it was in reassurance or in jest, allowing it to be whatever Kurt needed it to be. He reveled in the feeling of their shoulders touching, leaning the slightest bit closer, just to enjoy the feeling of being close to another person, just because.

“Me too,” Kurt whispered, and it felt like a secret, something for Blaine to protect.

And he _wanted_ that, to protect it, to protect whatever truce or friendship or _whatever_ they would hopefully build during their time stowed away in the lakehouse, even long after they returned back home and to their lives, no matter what that looked like. 

Sitting there with Kurt, exchanging quiet conversations and small smiles with nothing but the fire glowing in front of them and the stars twinkling above them, Blaine was vaguely aware of a thought creeping into the back of his mind, settling and rooting itself there, whether he wanted it or not.

Maybe this version of easiness, the one he shared with Kurt, _was_ better.

And maybe the damage was already done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like a visual of the lakehouse, I picture something quite like [this.](https://www.vrbo.com/699277?noDates=true&unitId=1247215)
> 
> the fire scene would have been much less if not for [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMErRgcm1sM) beautiful song by the avett brothers - I'd really recommend a listen.
> 
> see you soon, and as always, I'd love to know what you think!


	6. Day Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, what a week! it feels good to be back with another chapter :-) and it's the longest yet!

It was during breakfast the next morning that Blaine said it, absentmindedly popping a blueberry into his mouth.

“We should do something fun today.”

Kurt had slept surprisingly soundly, waking up slowly as the midmorning sunlight streamed pleasantly through the windows, not too early, not too bright. The bed had been addictively comfortable, the happy medium between soft and firm, all cozy blankets and fluffy pillows to keep him perfectly warm but not smothered or overheated.

And after a morning shower under hot water with a strong, cleansing pressure, Kurt had felt rested and relaxed and _good,_ and coming downstairs to freshly brewed coffee and warm muffins and fruit and - yes - good company made him feel even better.

That all went out the window as soon as Blaine spoke.

God, didn’t he _remember?_

_Let’s do something fun._

Blaine, sweet and charming and golden, eyes like honey and his _laugh._

Blaine, infuriating and flushed and _stupid,_ his mouth and his hands and his voice, stupid stupid _stupid,_ everywhere all at once, moaning, begging, pleading, god _dammit._

_Fuck me._

_More._

_Please._

“Kurt? Are you alright?”

_Kurt…_

He felt paralyzed.

“Having _fun_ didn’t exactly work out for us last time,” Kurt spat out, accidentally slamming his coffee mug down on the counter as his hand began trembling too hard to handle the weight of it any longer.

They hadn’t mentioned it since arriving in Maine - in fact, by some stroke of luck or an incredibly persistent mental block, Kurt had barely _thought_ about it. It was like the cabin immediately became a safe, untouchable haven, a reprieve suspended in time and reality for them to just let their guards down and exist and _breathe._

How had Kurt _still_ not learned he couldn’t afford to let his guard down?

 _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,_ right?

But three times? Four? Too many to count?

Shame, shame, shame.

“Shit, I-I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” Kurt sighed in an attempt to deflate, bracing his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands, waiting for the shaking to subside, for his head to stop spinning, for his mind to stop _remembering,_ pulling up the sounds and the _feelings_ raw and fresh as ever. “I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

_Stop being so sensitive. Don’t forget you put in most of the effort, anyways. Blaine said so himself._

“I’m sorry, though.” 

Blaine’s voice was small, and when Kurt dared to look up, his eyes were soft and warm, full of nothing _but_ regret, no spite or frustration or anger, no matter how much Kurt might have deserved at least a little bit of all of those things.

A sincere, genuine apology.

When was the last time Kurt had been on the receiving end of one of those?

“You don’t have to be,” Kurt said softly, and he really did mean it.

Blaine just gave a barely perceptible nod, falling quiet and holding Kurt’s eyes all the while. It was strange, really, how the evergreens outside almost seemed to bring out the darker tones in Blaine’s hazel eyes, forest and deeper amber amongst the golden honey, shining as his lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile, and _god_ Kurt wanted, he _wanted-_

“Anyways,” Blaine cleared his throat, ducking his head briefly. “There’s probably too much of a bite in the air for kayaking or taking the boat out, but I thought we could go for a little hike?”

He regained his composure well enough to narrow his eyes at Blaine - because no, what, in what _universe_ would Kurt Hummel go on a _little hike?_

“I distinctly remember telling you I tried to avoid nature. At all costs, Blaine.”

_Honestly._

“It won’t be much, I promise,” Blaine insisted,“A hike is probably too strong of a word - more of a walk, really?”

His eyes wide and pleading and glinting with excitement - no, possibility.

 _Possibility,_ like the fire. _So much_ like the fire, actually, captivating and powerful and one step away from outright _dangerous._

Kurt was out of his element in every way, shifted, tilted, changed in a way he had always feared, in a way he somehow wanted more of.

It scared him and it held him, all at once.

“What’s in it for me?” Kurt asked, already knowing he would say yes. 

“It’s the great outdoors, Kurt! Fresh air, scenic views, peace and quiet…” 

“Ugh, fine!” Kurt burst out with a roll of his eyes, biting his lip to force back the embarrassingly wide smile that threatened to break through. It was a shockingly far pendulum swing from the storm that had just torn through his belly - he tried not to think about it too hard. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

_I can’t believe I’m letting you in._

_I can’t believe I want to see you happy._

“I was hoping you would,” Blaine beamed, and he flashed the exact sort of grin that used to always get under Kurt’s skin, but something about it made him lose his inhibitions and smile right back instead - just this once. “You can trust me, okay?”

Despite it all, Kurt wasn’t too surprised to find he already did, at least for the most part.

“This better be worth it,” he said in lieu of a direct answer, unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

Whatever that meant.

* * *

Kurt was slow-moving, and it took a bit more convincing to get him out the door and into the woods, but Blaine didn’t mind. They were practically off the grid, after all, enough to feel like they were the only two in the world - schedules, routines, even times on the clock were unimportant, arbitrary.

Once they were outside, all that mattered was the cool air filling Blaine’s lungs, nipping at his nose and reddening Kurt’s ears more and more each time Blaine stole a glance over at him.

All that mattered was the sun peeking through the trees, potent enough to warm their faces and just barely keep their hands from needing gloves, though Kurt still kept his neatly jammed in his jacket pockets.

All that mattered were the puffs of breath that came a little heavier, a little harsher as they tracked up inclines through the woods, shoes treading softly through the dirt, occasionally crunching branches and dodging rocks. 

It all made Blaine feel alive, sent the blood pumping hotter through his veins, made the muscles up his calves begin to burn slightly from exertion and going, going, going.

And Kurt mattered, too - of course he did. He was becoming a strange constant for Blaine amongst everything else, even in all of his unpredictability, _especially_ in his unpredictability.

It, too, made Blaine feel alive in the strangest way, in a way he never could have anticipated or known to want for, unlike anything he had ever experienced. 

But for the moment, Kurt was quiet, and so was Blaine. And that was okay - comfortable, even, just the sound of their breathing and their footsteps and the aimless, infrequent sounds of the woods, sleepy and out of season.

After a while, they ended up curving out of the woods and finding a spot Blaine remembered from when he was young, a small, sandy area on the lakeshore, like a private beach, quiet and isolated. It offered a distant view of where the tip of Frye Island jutted out, rocky in the midst of the still, dark water, a stout lighthouse perched atop it - a steady, constant beacon.

“Looks pretty much exactly the way I always expected Maine to look,” Kurt admitted, wrapping his arms around his middle in a feeble attempt to keep himself warm as a breeze swept through the air.

For a fleeting moment, glancing over at Kurt in all of his flushed, wind-bitten glory, Blaine wished he could help warm him up.

But then it passed - or Blaine pushed it down, but either way, it was gone.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful,” Blaine said instead, breathing in slowly as he looked out across the water. The lighthouse looked nearly miniature, that far off in the distance - he remembered wanting to kayak out to it as a kid, even wondering if he could make it swimming.

He had always felt so invincible growing up, regardless of how small he was for his age or how Cooper tried to squash his dreams in the way every big brother did. Ever the dreamer, ever the joiner, ever searching for the spotlight.

Part of him still wondered if he could make it, if he truly set his mind to trying.

“It really is nice,” Kurt murmured, and had a hint of _something_ in it that left Blaine wondering if he meant more than just the view.

A weight, almost - a sort of honesty that felt rare, worth treasuring. 

“Is this where I say I told you so?” Blaine teased, lightening himself up and nudging his elbow against Kurt’s.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.”

Blaine chanced a look over at him, and there was light in Kurt’s eyes, too, a glint of something playful and easy in his smile. 

After all, there _was_ easiness to be had with Kurt, and plenty of it - but it was to be earned, never saturated enough to be taken for granted.

And that was something worth treasuring, too.

“Really, though,” Kurt spoke up, holding Blaine’s gaze for a moment before looking out to the water - shyly, almost. “Thank you for bringing me here. I...I don’t think I could’ve stood another hour at home.”

Just saying _you’re welcome_ felt too dismissive, too shallow considering the circumstances. The truth was that Blaine had thought of the idea to visit the lake house out of selfishness, more than anything else. Once he realized it was an option, he felt drawn to it with an intensity that almost scared him, a draw only comparable in its strength to what he felt towards Kurt that fateful night.

But that was the alcohol - it had to have been.

Either way, bringing Kurt up to Maine was just as much for Blaine, if not more. Sure, he had _hoped_ something good would come of it, and they could come to an agreement on how to approach the inevitable conversations with their husbands, but more than anything, Blaine craved the trees and the water and the air and the _quiet,_ whether Kurt was there or not. 

Now, Kurt was just as much of a fixture as any of it, if not the center of it all - he was keeping Blaine grounded just as much as anything else, in his softening eyes and his more frequent smile, even in all of his turbulence and unpredictability.

_Especially._

And so Blaine decided to be honest - Kurt deserved it, and so did he.

“I needed it, too,” he admitted, swaying gently so their shoulders knocked together just briefly, oddly craving some sort of physical contact, a realer, more tangible anchor. “And I’m glad you’re here with me.”

And he was.

As crazy and odd and unexpected and possibly inappropriate as it might have been, he really, really was.

* * *

The walk back started off similarly quiet, and Kurt reveled in it, despite how much he loved the constant fast pace and buzzing energy of the city. 

Kurt had so often found himself staying busy, doing extra planning for his classes or excessive online shopping to build his studio library, often as an excuse to avoid his thoughts, to block out the thoughts and worries and ideas that always loomed in the back of his mind.

He was afraid of what he’d realize if he spent too long in his own head.

But somehow, out there in the woods, it didn’t feel so ominous, so foreboding.

In fact, he was starting to feel like he could actually breathe.

Maybe he was finally beginning to accept the fact that he had crossed a line he could never come back from, a line that could and _would_ change everything in a few short days.

And maybe his mind was giving him one last bit of reprieve before it all fell apart, the calm before the unavoidable storm.

Or maybe it was Blaine, walking there beside him, constant and steady and kind and somehow brighter than the most impressive lighthouse in the state.

But probably not.

_Maybe._

Regardless, the fully-risen sun warming his face and the chill in the air nipping his nose and even the nagging ache of his feet in his boots were all things that reminded Kurt of who he was, capable and human and _alive._

And then he misstepped - whether it was his foot landing oddly on a rock or a rogue patch of ice or his ankle just giving out, he wasn’t sure - and suddenly Kurt was tripping, stumbling and falling and he couldn’t _catch_ himself, he was out of control and _falling_ like an absolute idiot, and then he landed on his hands and knees in the dirt path, ego bruised and ankle searing with pain and _ow._

_Fuck._

“Shit- Are you okay?” 

Blaine was there in an instant, kneeling close on the ground with a wide, heavy palm on Kurt’s back, as questioning as it was reassuring.

_I’m not okay, I already wasn’t okay, I’m losing it, I don’t know why I’m so weak all of the sudden-_

“I’m fine, just-”

“Here, hold on-”

Before Kurt could even try to move, Blaine was up on his feet again. He didn’t even bother to dust the dirt off of the knees of his pants before extending his hands down to Kurt, offering sure, sincere support in the form of a physical lifeline that, in all of its simplicity, made tears prickle hot behind Kurt’s eyes, embarrassing and ridiculous.

Even still, Kurt grasped one of Blaine’s hands with his own, and then Blaine’s free hand came to brace Kurt’s elbow, firm and reliable and _helpful_ as Kurt began to stand up. It was fine at first, and he was ready to just dust off his clothes and make the rest of the way back to the cabin, where he could burrow under the bedcovers and lick his wounds, both metaphorical and literal.

But then he attempted to put weight on his ankle, and a searing rush of pain went up his calf, and he let out a whimper before he could stop himself, aimlessly reaching with his free arm for purchase and ending up with it wrapped around Blaine’s shoulders, fingers digging tight into his jacket.

Blaine let out a soft _oof_ at the unexpected weight of Kurt’s body, but he didn’t let them fall, instead letting go of Kurt’s elbow to wrap around his waist, tugging him up the rest of the way.

“Sorry, my ankle- _fuck,”_ Kurt hissed through clenched teeth, taking the opportunity of leaning against Blaine to test setting his foot down - nothing felt broken, for one thing, but his ankle was far too tender to fully tread on, as badly as he just wanted to shove down the pain and walk it off.

 _Pitiful, you’re a mess, why are you even letting him-_

“I’ve got you,” Blaine murmured, voice close and breath warm in Kurt’s ear, nearly making him shiver in its contrast to the cold air around them. “Do you think you can make it back?”

Kurt had no idea how long they had been out, how far they had gone, or how much they had left to go. It hadn’t _mattered_ for him to know - he was just following Blaine, along for the ride, putting his trust in Blaine when Blaine asked him to.

_Serves you right._

But it still wasn’t Blaine’s fault, and surprisingly enough, Kurt didn’t consider blaming him for a second. Blaine hadn’t given Kurt a single reason _not_ to trust him, not there in the woods or ever since they had gotten to Maine.

Maybe even before that.

Blaine’s support had been unwavering, emotionally and now physically, his arm wrapped around Kurt, grip firm around his waist.

Regardless of how clumsy and stupid and _broken_ Kurt felt, he had no choice but to walk back - they hadn’t brought their temporary flip phones, considering they were essentially useless, and they were alone in the _woods,_ after all.

“Guess I’m going to have to,” Kurt muttered, resenting the telltale tremble of his voice. On top of an embarrassing fall, he didn’t understand why he wanted to _cry,_ of all things. 

_Ridiculous, why can’t you just get up and go like you always do-_

“We’ll get you there,” Blaine promised him, thumb rubbing gently in reassuring circles just above Kurt’s hip, round and round and round. Kurt was desperate to melt into it. “It’s not far.”

It _felt_ far - like miles, in fact, limping for what felt like hours through the winding path, always leaning heavily into Blaine’s side. 

Kurt had never been good at letting others help him. In fact, he had always been fiercely independent - practically from birth, if his dad’s favorite story of little Kurt, barely a year old, stubbornly trying to walk without anyone’s help was any indication. It was just who he was, and after losing his mother, almost losing his father, and being ostracized for years in school, it became the way he _had_ to be.

He didn’t need anyone’s help - not from his friends, not from his coworkers, not even from his husband.

He never had.

But then, there was Blaine, wordlessly helping him without the slightest hesitation about it, the very last person Kurt could have ever expected.

The last person Kurt could have ever _wanted._

And yet, Kurt was letting him. Kurt was relying on him in more ways than one, in fact, and it felt _nice,_ truthfully, not bearing the weight of the world all on his own shoulders for even just a moment, if nothing else.

But Blaine had never asked for any of this. He _hadn’t_ asked to be matched up with Kurt, who had always hated him, who had made everything into a competition and wrote him off and taken everything personally. Regardless of what had happened in the time since Kurt opened the door to find Blaine on his doorstep, Blaine hadn’t wished this - _them -_ upon himself any more than Kurt had.

He hadn’t asked for Kurt to hate him, and as the time spent together wore on, Kurt was having more and more trouble remembering _why_ he had even hated Blaine in the first place.

After all, he hadn’t really _known_ Blaine then, but despite anything he could have predicted for himself, despite whether he should or not, the more they got to know each other, the more Kurt simply just _wanted -_ the more he wanted to know, the more he wanted to get closer and make it all up to him and-

“You’re doing great,” Blaine said then, like he knew, like he was right there with him - and in many ways, he was.

But Kurt felt like he wasn’t doing great at all. 

Their surroundings were beginning to feel more familiar, though, and then the dock came into view in the distance as they came around the corner, and when they stepped up onto the wooden foundation, Kurt could _do_ it - he could put just enough pressure on his foot to begin to hobble up the boardwalk, though Blaine still held him close. 

_Finally._

He wasn’t completely hopeless.

However, Kurt didn’t feel like he could truly breathe again until they made it back to the cabin and walked inside, greeted by a warm hug of heat thawing out their rosy cheeks and near-numb hands, a promise of relaxing and resting and _forgetting_ and maybe even a nap, _please._

And breathe he did, a stuttered, full-bodied inhale that heaved in his chest, followed by a rush of an exhale, and there was Blaine’s _thumb_ again, rubbing up and down Kurt’s side like he was bringing him through the air in his lungs, pulling him out the other side.

Suddenly, Kurt felt like he couldn’t breathe all over again - but for an entirely different reason.

“Thanks for getting me back,” Kurt managed instead of beginning to confront the feeling, beginning to pull away from Blaine’s hold. He desperately wanted to lay down, and he figured he could make it up the stairs to his bedroom if he took it slowly, if he held onto the handrail, but maybe a pack of ice or something would do him good before he-

“Hey, hold on,” Blaine protested. “Where are you trying to go?”

 _Why does it matter?_ Kurt wanted to ask. _You didn’t leave me in the woods, isn’t that enough? Why do you even care, really?_

_Why don’t you hate me?_

“I- I was just going to go upstairs and-”

“What? No,” Blaine interrupted, brows furrowed at Kurt like he was crazy, but his eyes still retained a softness, warmer than the heat pumping through the cabin. “Let’s get you set up by the fireplace- I’ll get you some ice, and I think there should be painkillers in the medicine cabinet…”

Startled, Kurt was powerless to resist as Blaine tugged him over to one of the wide, comfy-looking chairs in front of the stone accent wall. He _had_ wanted to spend an afternoon curled up in one with a book, warming his toes by a freshy-lit fire - though this wasn’t exactly the way Kurt had envisioned it, it _did_ sound nice.

But he still didn’t understand why Blaine cared - why he _still_ cared, why he still wanted to help, even when Kurt was at a point where he could manage on his own.

Kurt didn’t understand why he _wanted_ to let Blaine help, either, but he went with it, sinking into the chair that - _yes -_ felt like a cloud, allowing Blaine to tenderly lift his foot up onto the ottoman and slide a stack of pillows under it.

“I’ll get those things, but do you need anything else?” Blaine asked after he apparently fussed with the pillows to his liking, even pulling a throw blanket from a basket on the floor and placing it over the arm of the chair, conveniently within Kurt’s reach. “I-I could set a fire, or get you a book, or-”

“Why are you doing this?” Kurt blurted out, his eyes fixed on Blaine. He suddenly realized he’d just been _watching,_ watching Blaine situate him and settle him and _care_ for him. It was like everything else was fading away, and even Blaine had gone fuzzy around the edges, so sweet and kind that he was almost entirely unreal.

And Kurt’s heart, his _heart-_

Filled with a lightness he didn’t want to feel, a lightness he wasn’t ready for, something he wasn’t sure he had _ever_ felt before, or at least not since his _mother,_ fresh-baked cookies and warm, floral hugs and tea parties and kindness, just sweet, effortless kindness, _where had it gone, why hadn’t he felt this in so long, why now, why Blaine, why not Adam, what does it mean, make it make sense…_

It didn’t make sense. It _couldn’t_ make sense.

 _It makes sense,_ a voice nagged in the back of Kurt’s mind. _You know the answer. You just don’t want it to be true._

_Fuck._

Kurt was still watching - _staring,_ more like - and Blaine was frozen, staring back with a nearly unreadable expression on his face, looking like he was caught in the act, a kid with his arm elbow-deep in a cookie jar, guilty.

And then Blaine smiled, slow and honest, and he was all syrupy, melted honey, seeping through the ever-growing cracks in Kurt’s armor, filling his belly with a warmth that spread down through his toes, up through his fingertips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he shrugged, like it was as easy as that, like they were old friends or even- even _more,_ or like they were meant to be there up in that cabin together, all alone and isolated and cozy and suspended in time. 

Kurt was starting to think that maybe they were.

Maybe it _could_ be that easy.

And maybe he was losing the fight against it.

* * *

Blaine spent most of the afternoon doting on Kurt, not thinking twice about it.

Staying on the move, stoking a fire in the fireplace and cooking full meals for both lunch and dinner and regularly refreshing the pack of ice on Kurt’s ankle - all of those things were a lot easier than taking even a moment to consider _why_ he was doing any of it in the first place.

Because there had just been something about seeing Kurt fall, standing powerless to stop him from crashing down, something about watching him come closer than ever to breaking that made Blaine want to put him back together more than anything else in the world.

And that shouldn’t have been something he wanted - not Kurt, not when they were both married to other people, not given their strange, convoluted history.

Not in this lifetime, at least.

But then everything Blaine could do was done, and their bellies were full, and Kurt insisted his ankle was feeling better, even having made a couple successful laps around the downstairs area, insisting he did _not_ need Blaine’s help to the bathroom, thank you very much.

And Blaine wanted - needed - to _do_ something.

Kurt was still contently curled up in his chair, one leg tucked underneath him, the other socked foot still propped up on the ottoman, adequately elevated. His profile was gently illuminated by the glow of the fireplace, and he looked soft and _young,_ almost, with his nose in a book, eyes trained to the words on the pages as his lips moved along with them. The movement was almost imperceptible, but Blaine noticed, sitting in the matching chair across from him, trying to read his own book.

He noticed all of it.

The way Kurt’s mouth smacked softly after every yawn, which began increasing in frequency as the sun set and twilight fell upon them. The way Kurt’s bangs flopped over his forehead, and the way Kurt kept brushing them back, mindless and habitual. The way Kurt’s fingers traced aimless, compulsive patterns on the front cover of the book as he read, the very same long, purposeful fingers that-

Blaine _really_ needed to do something.

But foolishly, strangely, oddly enough, he wanted to be around Kurt. He wanted to talk to him, and he wanted to get to know him, and he wanted to see Kurt laugh and smile and make sure he was okay - and _make_ him okay if he wasn’t.

Emphasis on the foolishness, perhaps.

Continuing to sit there just _look_ at Kurt, though, wasn’t going to work.

It felt too dangerous.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Kurt said dryly without looking up, casually flipping to a fresh page in his book.

Deep, deep in the danger zone, in fact - Kurt had already worked himself into Blaine’s head, after all, and he clearly had no plans to leave.

“I was just, um. Trying to think of something we could do,” Blaine managed lamely, drawing in a slow breath.

_Trying to stop thinking about you. It’s not working._

As thinly-veiled as Blaine’s words sounded to his own ears, Kurt seemed to perk up at them, taking one long, final look at his book before setting it aside, offering Blaine a small, curious smile.

And then, before Blaine could think of a suggestion for a way to pass the rest of their evening, Kurt positively lit up, outshining the glow of the fire beside him, eyes sparkling and all.

“Didn’t I see a hot tub out on the back deck?” he asked, face breaking into a wide, hopeful grin.

It was a bad idea.

It was a terrible idea.

It was far and beyond dangerous, in fact, all steamy and hot and flushed faces, jets and bubbles and relaxed muscles, a distinct lack of clothes covering bodies, lazy and slow and contained heat in a confined space.

But seeing Kurt smile like _that?_

It was worth all the risk in the world.

“We don’t have swimsuits,” Blaine said, as if it mattered.

Kurt’s mind was made up, and Blaine wasn’t about to take that away from him.

“I won’t look,” Kurt promised with a playful wink, using his finger to cross an X over his heart. “It’s dark out there, anyway. We’ll go in with our eyes closed.”

It _did_ sound nice.

And so Blaine made quick work of getting them towels and setting up the jacuzzi out on the porch, pulling off the heavy cover, setting the temperature and starting the jets. It was cold out but not unbearably so, a touch warmer than the previous night, down by the bonfire - a reprieve from shivering and goosebumps that made Blaine feel like this was okay, like it would work.

Then Kurt came out to join him, still limping just slightly enough to be noticeable as he stepped onto the deck, and Blaine realized, of course - it truly _would_ be helpful for Kurt’s muscles, for his joints and his ankle.

It felt like enough of a real reason to absolve the last of Blaine’s guilt, to remove his final reservations, to push him to take the leap and strip himself down to his underwear and climb into the hot tub. He shuddered with a full body shiver as he slipped into the water, sinking into it with a long drag of an exhale, the tension and stress and confusion beginning to melt out of his body, pulled out through the jets and thawed by the heat.

“I’m coming in,” Kurt warned from behind him, and Blaine dutifully squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Kurt settle in beside him, although it was too dark to make out much of anything, anyways, the only light offered by the fairy lights lining the railing of the deck.

It just seemed like the thing to do.

They were quiet for a while, the only sounds being the water when one of them shifted and the jets bubbling underneath the surface, one digging pleasantly into the small of Blaine’s back.

It was warm, and Blaine could feel the steam rising up and heating his face, and he could feel Kurt beside him, too, not touching but close in the small space.

Really, really close.

There in the silence, Kurt’s proximity felt nearly overwhelming.

“This is new, actually,” Blaine said in an attempt to search for conversation, to keep things light and casual - to keep his mind from working over the details of Kurt’s eyes and Kurt’s smile and Kurt’s nearness and _Kurt_ again and again and again. “The hot tub, I mean. I would have killed for one of these as a kid.”

Kurt just let out a slow, lazy hum in acknowledgement, and as Blaine looked over at him, he could just make out the shape of Kurt sinking further down into the water, nearly up to his shoulders with his head tilted back, propped up against the siding. The glow of the twinkling lights around him illuminated his silhouette, making him look entirely otherworldly.

Making Blaine feel like he couldn’t breathe.

“I-It was probably for the best, though,” Blaine soldiered on, aching for a distraction. “I can just see my parents trying to relax in here while I tried to, like, go snorkeling or something.”

“Not exactly the intended usage,” Kurt mused, letting out a soft laugh.

It sounded like music, and Blaine was powerless to do anything but join him, little peals of laughter bubbling up through his chest.

“No, no it’s not.” He shook his head as he leaned back, lips still curled up into a smile. “I’m not sure my parents knew what to do with me a lot of the time. I mean, my brother’s nine years older than me. I doubt they were exactly expecting me to show up.”

“I always wished for a sibling,” Kurt admitted quietly. “But I did finally get a big goof of a brother in high school when my dad remarried. For a few years, anyway.”

“Marriage didn’t last?” Blaine prompted carefully, always aware of the risk of going too far, of messing things up, though the threat of it seemed to diminish by the day.

He hoped.

But that seemed like the only answer would make sense.

“No, um. They’re still together,” Kurt sighed, shifting to sit up fully again, looking out at the lake they couldn’t see. “Finn, uh. He passed when we were nineteen.”

“Kurt,” Blaine breathed out, taken aback. Logically, he knew the wounds weren’t fresh - it had been a long time since either of them were teenagers, but he knew time didn’t completely heal, not really.

Not for something like that.

He wanted to reach out, to pat Kurt’s knee or squeeze his hand, and he might have, if they weren’t a step away from naked and in the water.

It was still far too much.

“It’s… I’ve come to terms with it,” Kurt said, and Blaine figured the kindest thing he could do was to leave it at that.

It felt like a gift to even be told, receiving another piece of the intricate puzzle that was Kurt Hummel.

And then Blaine found himself speaking again, _asking,_ without even meaning to, without knowing why he even wanted to know the answer to his question.

“Do you… Do you see yourself having kids someday?”

He immediately wanted to take it back. He wanted to say never mind, and he wanted to apologize, and he wanted to slap himself for crossing the line he had been so incredibly careful not to cross.

But Kurt didn’t glare at him, and he didn’t bite back or accuse Blaine of anything - he just straightened his posture, and he sighed, and so Blaine waited.

Blaine waited, and he tried to remember how to breathe, and he tried not to think of his own daydreams for children of his own, never once spoken aloud.

It hadn’t ever seemed quite possible, somehow, even though Dave had told him in their early days that he wanted kids someday, too.

“I try not to think about it,” Kurt admitted, voice low as he looked down into the swirling water, skimming his hand across the surface of it. “I, um. I used to, yes. But I’m not sure it’s the right step for us, at least right now.”

As cold as Kurt had been to him for years, Blaine could see it - Kurt being a father. There was a warmth to him, now, that Blaine was coming to recognize and was coming to _enjoy,_ a clear complexity of life experiences and interests and layers to Kurt’s heart and his mind that would all lend themself quite nicely to it.

They were all things that Blaine saw in himself, too, that _he_ wanted to channel into raising his own family.

But looking at Kurt was like looking into a mirror, all of Blaine’s time spent pushing the thought away and making excuses and settling on _it’s not quite right, it’s not the right step, not right now._

“What would need to happen?” Blaine wanted to know, body trembling with a shiver, though it wasn’t from the cold of the night at all. “What would need to change?”

“I would need to be able to trust him.”

It was such a quick answer, and Kurt said it so calmly, so neutrally, as if it were a normal occurrence, as if tons and tons of people out in the world _didn’t_ trust their partners, as if it were just just a fact of life.

It hit Blaine straight in the gut, grabbing and twisting, making him feel so much that he couldn’t focus on any part of it - except for confusion.

And the need to know, plus the bravery to ask.

“Did… Did something happen?” he questioned tentatively, eyes searching Kurt’s profile, as if he’d find an answer etched in the fine lines or the freckles on his skin, faint in the low light but evident of an entire life Kurt had lived, an entire life Blaine had been unaware of.

An entire life Blaine suddenly felt like he had _missed,_ that he wanted to learn and know and piece together to work the puzzle that added up to the man beside him, in all of his complexities and intricacies and his powerful, captivating unknown.

“I-I, um. A couple years after I graduated, I was… I was teaching part-time at NYADA, but I was still putting a lot of my focus into auditions, and I...I was struggling.” Kurt paused, drawing in a sharp breath and squeezing his eyes closed, tension evident in every facet of his face that Blaine could make out, though it began to fade with his exhale, and he sunk lower into the water. “Broadway was starting to feel like a dead end, and I couldn’t accept that. I just… It had always been my dream- my _lifeline,_ even, to get me out of Ohio. I wasn’t ready to give up.”

Blaine nodded, keeping his gaze soft and patient on Kurt, offering what he hoped was wordless support. He knew the feeling, after all. He had always known he and Kurt were more similar than either of them had wanted to admit.

“Anyways,” Kurt sighed, shaking his head. “Adam knew that, and I… I probably leaned on him more heavily than I should have. And then he, um. He took a trip to England - where he’s from - just for spring break. But then the week was over, and he didn’t come back.”

_What?_

It didn’t make sense.

“He...didn’t come back?” Blaine managed, heart in his throat although he knew, of course, that Adam had to have come back eventually, considering where they were now.

“He stopped answering my messages, my Facetime calls, everything. He… He fell totally off the map. I was _scared,_ first, and I was worried, but then I saw him get tagged in some _stupid_ picture on Facebook, just smiling with all of his friends like nothing was wrong. And then I was just angry.”

“But…”

 _But how could he ever leave you behind?_ he wanted to ask. _How could anyone let you go?_

“I mean, yeah. He did show back up, obviously. Knocked at my door almost three months after he left, and he… He was a mess. It was like this...quarter-life crisis, I guess, but he said he realized that being with me was the most important thing, and… I didn’t believe him. And then he proposed.”

“And you said yes.”

There was so much more Blaine wanted to say, wanted to know. More and more questions were swirling in his mind, but he knew he couldn’t ask any of them.

_Why, though? Why would you marry him? Who even is this guy? What did he do to deserve you?_

_Do you regret it?_

They were all rooted in an ever-growing anger for Adam, swirling uncomfortably in his belly, making him want to _defend,_ to protect.

But he couldn’t. _Adam_ was Kurt’s life, in the end - Blaine was just a small, temporary part of it.

His protection wasn’t needed, and he doubted Kurt would have wanted it, anyways.

So he left it at that, a single word - _But._

“And I said yes,” Kurt echoed, voice cracking almost imperceptibly on the last word. “My professional dreams were falling apart, and he… He gave me the ring I had always wanted, let me plan the whole wedding. But we fought a lot because he wouldn’t tell me what happened while he was in England. He just… It was like he thought if he gave me my dream wedding, it would be enough to get me to stop asking.” He snorted humorlessly. “I guess it worked.”

“What do you think happened? In England?”

It could have been anything. It could have been something small, or it could have been huge. Even years later, Adam could still be harboring a secret, an unspoken truth that would crush Kurt and change everything, and it wasn’t like Kurt didn’t _know_ that, but _god,_ Blaine just couldn’t shake the feeling that he deserved _better, you’re worth so much more, what if I could be-_

“I don’t know,” Kurt admitted. “I don’t think I’ll ever find out, not at this point. But what’s the point of knowing, really?”

There _was_ a point.

Blaine knew that, and he knew _Kurt_ knew that, too.

But finding out meant so much more. A confirmation meant change, and it meant a loss of safety and security, the kind only found in a partner.

It was a lot to lose, founded on fractured trust or not.

He couldn’t imagine being in that situation, knowing Dave was hiding a huge secret, knowing their marriage was a band-aid of sorts. It made the issues of their friendly companionship and lack of _passion_ seem small, even silly.

“Shit, Kurt,” he sighed, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I-I know. I know how bad it sounds, and I know how stupid it makes _me_ look, but I’m used to it, and I’ve accepted it.” Kurt sounded defensive now, as he sat up ramrod straight, seconds away from putting up the armor that Blaine had only just managed to pull down. “It’s my marriage, and it’s my life, and it doesn’t matter what you or anyone else thinks I-”

“No, no, you- You don’t look bad,” Blaine reassured him quickly, and he meant it. “You don’t look stupid, either. I...I can’t say I wouldn’t have ended up in the same place, if it were me.”

_Please believe me._

In his own way, he had.

It was a different path, full of different people and personalities and feelings, but all roads led them to that night, led them to each other, for each of them to be something the other was missing, whether they yet understood what it was or not.

And maybe the path wasn’t as straight and direct and predictable as Blaine had always assumed it was. Maybe there were diversions, long and winding and splitting off into different possibilities and realities and feelings, and maybe those were options Blaine was supposed to explore.

And maybe this was where his path intersected with Kurt’s, and maybe they were meant to all along.

“You have this way of making me want to tell you things,” Kurt murmured, immediately softer, turning his body to face Blaine, to fully look at him for the first time since they’d gotten into the hot tub. The look in his eyes, almost lazy, all dark blue and half-lidded and heavy in the darkness, calm but with acceptance, not resigned but _embracing_ \- it was enough to shock Blaine into silence, to make a breath hitch in his throat, to make him powerless against doing anything but looking back.

“You have a way of making me want other things, too.” 

“Kurt…” Blaine breathed out, and the feeling of the name in his mouth felt holy, sounded like a prayer.

And then Kurt’s arm was reaching, curving out of the water and onto the siding of the hot tub, and his fingers were threading into the curls at the nape of Blaine’s neck and drawing him in, closer and closer and _not close enough._ Blaine felt like he was in a dream, stunned at the swirling thickness in the air surrounding them and between them, _especially_ between them, the way the chill in the air and the steam rising from the water all disappeared and numbed and blurred together, leaving only Kurt, Kurt in every sound and movement and whisper.

Blaine’s eyes fluttered closed just as Kurt closed the final bit of distance, and _oh,_ there it was, there _he_ was. 

There was Kurt’s _mouth,_ soft and pliant against his own, drawing out every final trickle of resistance and uncertainty in Blaine’s body.

It was nothing like any of the kisses they had shared _that_ night - or rather, the kisses Kurt had _taken_ , the kisses Blaine had been nearly overpowered by.

This was gentle, and it was simple, and it was a give and take in the slowest of waves, ebbing and flowing with every press of their lips, every movement of their mouths coming together and shifting and parting, only to come back together again, washing over Blaine’s very soul and warming it, more than the water they were submerged in, more than the steam rising above it.

This was Kurt.

This was _Kurt._

And this had already ended badly once.

Blaine couldn’t handle that again.

Even still, it took a long moment for Blaine to work up the will to pull back, enough time to allow for another series of kisses, longer but completely unhurried, leading to nothing but just reveling in the moment. It was sensual in every possible way, and Blaine felt it from head to toe, positively electric in each and every moment.

It was all Kurt’s hands, one still nestled in his hair, cradling his neck, the other rubbing gently up and down Blaine’s arm underneath the water, reassuring and fuzzy and intimate to its very core. It was all Kurt’s mouth, his lips fitted around Blaine’s own, capturing top and then bottom and nipping lightly, then Kurt’s tongue swiping against Blaine’s mouth and slowly working it open, gentle, gentle, gentle.

There was nothing else but _him,_ and there was nothing else Blaine could want for, either.

But he was afraid, and so he finally broke away, his eyes remaining closed, foreheads leaning together, breathing heavy and ragged, heady and warm.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispered, and Blaine had never heard his name that way, the ultimate benediction, working its way into his body and settling deep inside every part of him, veins and lungs and bones and heart. “Blaine, just… Just kiss me.”

 _I want to. I need to,_ he wanted to say. _But I’m scared of that, of how much I want it. Want_ you. _I’m afraid of you freaking out again. I’m afraid of giving you the power to wreck me._

_I’m afraid I already have._

“Promise me something,” he breathed instead, voice as shaky as his trembling hands, fingers searching for purchase and finding it in Kurt, _always_ in Kurt, lately, one hand gripping his hip underwater and the other cupping his jaw, cradled and sure, droplets of water running down his arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Blaine dared to open his eyes, and Kurt was already looking at him, serious and open and _intense,_ like Blaine was the only fixture in the world or at least the only one worth looking at, and it felt different.

It felt safe.

There was a question in Kurt’s eyes, too, in every soft breath that brushed across Blaine’s face in the closeness of their proximity, even in Kurt’s fingers carding through his hair, repetitive and soothing and a wordless acceptance, _yes, you can ask me anything, you can tell me anything, you’re right, you’re safe with me now._

_Trust._

“Don’t freak out in the morning,” Blaine pleaded, swallowing thickly to push away the lump in his throat that threatened at the very thought of it. “If I… If we… Just. Just please don’t freak out.”

“Okay. Okay,” Kurt said simply, moving to cup Blaine’s face in both hands, stroking his thumbs across Blaine’s cheekbones, leaving Blaine no choice but to stay and look and to feel infinitely _precious,_ held in Kurt’s hands like something inexplicably worth holding.

In all of the years of fun and conversation and laughter and companionship with Dave, Blaine never-

He had never even known it was _possible_ to feel so treasured by someone, and to treasure them in return.

And so when Kurt spoke, Blaine believed him.

It left nothing to do but give Kurt what he asked for, and so Blaine swayed in impossibly closer and he captured Kurt’s lips in a sweet, languid kiss, full of more warmth and possibility than anything else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, your kudos and comments mean the world to me! see you next weekend! <3


	7. Day Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!
> 
> I do just want to note that the next chapter might be a couple days late - I'll be out of town next weekend and might not have much internet/time to get it posted.
> 
> other than that, off we go!

Waking up with Blaine felt impossibly different when Kurt was actually expecting it to happen.

It was a gradual lift into consciousness, a gentle swell of awareness into his senses - skin against skin, a warm body tucked up against him, legs tangled together, a face nuzzling into his neck, snuffling softly, an arm slung across his torso, fingers laced together over his belly.

There was no shock, no surprise - it was Blaine, and Kurt knew instantly.

And it may have been the coziness under the covers or the residual sleep slowing his brain, but it just felt _right._

Everything else had begun to slip away with every kiss they shared outside and, later, in the bedroom - husbands, jobs, responsibilities, students and musicals and auditions, all of it. They had drawn deeper into each other in every moment and infinitely further away from all the rest, and even after a night’s sleep, none of it had resurfaced.

Lying there, twisted up in one another as the morning light peeked through the curtained windows, it still just felt like _them,_ like nothing else mattered or even existed.

Kurt couldn’t remember ever feeling so calm, so light and _free,_ probably not since he was a child. 

And he had _felt_ like a child, almost, out in the hot tub.

When their fingers had turned pruney and it was time to go in, they had climbed out of the water and shivered and laughed, breathless and airy and _free,_ and they had dried off hurriedly and sought the warmth of indoors in a rush, giddy and playful in their movements, bumping into one another and holding on tight all the way upstairs to Kurt’s room.

Their boxers had been wet and freezing and clinging to their bodies, and Kurt had still been shivering as he stripped his pair off unceremoniously before promptly collapsing into the bed and cocooning himself up in the blankets.

And then Blaine had followed suit, stripping down and climbing in, and Kurt had instantly welcomed him, wrapping him up in the covers and pulling him close, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. 

They had been naked - and they still were, but it hadn’t mattered, and it still didn’t. 

They had just kissed, and they had held each other, and they had fallen asleep together, and it had been enough.

It had been _everything._

And laying there, adjusting to the morning light with Blaine still fast asleep in his arms, Kurt couldn’t ask for anything more.

But of course, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It couldn’t last.

In fact, they were _one day_ away from having to part and go back to their normal lives. One day away from having to confront their husbands and be honest and _confess._

One day away from quite possibly facing their executions.

And god, what was Kurt going to _say?_ How was Adam going to react?

What was going to happen to Kurt’s marriage? To Blaine’s?

And what was going to happen to _them?_

There _was_ no _them,_ really, and Kurt knew that - there _couldn’t_ be a _them,_ not a Kurt-and-Blaine them, but Kurt hoped, he _wanted,_ he thought _maybe, in a different life, at least-_

But despite Kurt’s best efforts to resist for what felt like an eternity, he had fully given in and given himself over to Blaine, and he wasn’t even sure when or _why_ it had happened.

It might have been the way Blaine insisted upon helping him with his twisted ankle, or the way Blaine smiled and laughed so infectiously that Kurt had lost the battle against doing the same in return. Or maybe it was the way Blaine had gotten him coffee, the way Blaine had taken him up to the lake, the way Blaine had always looked at him and touched him and held him like he was _worth_ something, even when they were drunk, even when everything was falling apart.

Or maybe it happened the very moment Blaine showed up at Kurt’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine, looking so innocent in his optimism and his hopefulness, smiling a smile Kurt had once despised so deeply.

He already couldn’t remember what it felt like to hate Blaine’s smile - or anything else about him.

Regardless, Blaine had found a way under Kurt’s skin and maybe even into his heart and his soul in a matter of days, and Kurt wasn’t sure he wanted him to leave.

But holding onto Blaine meant a divorce - _two_ divorces, actually, and divorce came with questions and assumptions and a hit to his reputation that Kurt couldn’t afford.

It meant looking like a failure, and it meant feeling like one, too.

But even if Kurt could accept how bad it _looked,_ holding onto Blaine also meant building something new on top of the shattered fragments of something old, and that was a recipe for disaster.

He had already tried to build a relationship atop a crumbling foundation once, and it had turned into ever-present questions and broken trust and _can you really fully trust someone again after they give you a single reason not to?_

_What happened in England? Please tell me, just tell me, I just need to know-_

Kurt couldn’t handle another England, couldn’t even handle the risk of anything close to it.

There was no guarantee he and Blaine would work out if they tried. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t crash and burn and fall back into their rivalry once they had to go back to work. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t end up completely _hating_ each other again but with _reason_ for it.

Kurt could take unfounded hatred all day, but he couldn’t imagine hating Blaine now, could imagine even less being able to stand Blaine hating him in return.

Not anymore.

Now, Blaine looked at him and kissed him and held him like he was something precious, and Kurt wanted and _tried_ to do and convey the same thing in return, because _yes,_ what they were beginning to share and shape together felt _so_ precious, felt like something Kurt never knew he could have, never thought he deserved, never thought was even real outside of movies and fairytales.

It was too precious to ruin, to even risk.

Maybe it was just something they were meant to share there in Maine, a glimpse of what could have been _if you weren’t so insecure and threatened by everything afraid of failing, so afraid of failing that you’re doing it anyways._

_Fuck._

All over again, Kurt felt like he was on the verge of crumbling under the pressure and the inevitable breakdown and the _unknown_ of it all, and he didn’t know what to _do,_ didn’t know how he could think straight or focus or _decide,_ didn’t know how he could even live with himself, even _breathe-_

And then Blaine shifted against him, smacking his mouth softly and letting out a soft hum as he extracted his hand from Kurt’s in favor of sliding it up, sleepily twining his fingers into the thick hair at the back of Kurt’s head-

And Kurt didn’t think of running or hiding for a single second.

Not this time.

Instead, he pulled Blaine closer, burying his face in his curls and reminding himself of how to breathe - surrounding himself in Blaine made it easier, made it _possible._

“You ‘kay?” Blaine mumbled, voice heavy and thick with sleep. He tilted his head up just enough to press his lips to Kurt’s jaw in a soft little kiss, just dry and faint pressure more than anything else, still more than enough to make Kurt shiver. “Still sleepin’?”

“I’m alright,” Kurt murmured in reply, and he was.

 _As long as we stay right here,_ he wanted to add, running his fingers up and down Blaine’s back in a soothing, repetitive motion, following the curve of his spine. _As long as tomorrow never comes, and as long as I can just keep holding you. As long as we never have to leave Maine._

_As long as I never have to say goodbye to you._

He was alright, but he knew their time was running out.

Tick, tick, ticking away, an ever-present timer counting down in the back of his mind.

Kurt knew they would have to leave, and they would have to go home, and they would have to let go.

He knew they would have to say goodbye.

* * *

It was nearly noon by the time Blaine finally dragged himself out of bed and tugged on a clean pair of underwear, lured by the ever-strengthening pull of hunger.

Kurt stayed behind, wrapped up in the blankets - or rather, Blaine forced him to, wanting to hold on for as long as he could to the perfect picture of Kurt’s sleep-mussed hair, his naked body all pale skin and long lines against the white of the comforter and the bedsheets, his mouth - his incredible, pink mouth - curled up into a lazy, private smile, all intimate, all for _Blaine._

They whittled away most of the morning floating in the sweet spot between being asleep and being awake, dozing off in stolen moments with soft words and gentle kisses in between, not a care in the world because there _was_ no world outside of the two of them.

It just made Blaine feel so- 

It made him _feel._

It made him feel more than he had felt in ages, in fact, rivaled only by some of his very best onstage performances, his senior showcase, for one, singing his heart out - the same heart that was _swelling_ with feeling, threatening to burst out of his chest with the magnitude of it, whispering _Kurt, Kurt, Kurt_ in each and every beat.

It made him feel a way Blaine never realized he _could_ feel with another person.

But that wasn’t his husband’s fault.

He was content with Dave, and he always had been. In fact, Dave had been his first real, serious boyfriend, and Blaine had been Dave’s, and Blaine had always just kind of assumed that feeling content _was_ love, and it _was_ what to search for and hope for and hold onto.

He had always felt he would be a fool to let it go.

Now that he knew the _possibility_ within the wicked combination of fire and electricity in the passionate moments he felt with Kurt and warmth and safety in the tender ones, knew that all of it could coexist and feel _sustainable-_

He wasn’t sure how he could go back to simply feeling content.

But for the moment, he focused on folding blueberries and lemon zest into pancake batter, allowing the repetitive motion to soothe him.

They had one more day together, just over 24 hours, and Blaine wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

He was humming aimlessly to himself, ladling the batter onto the griddle when he felt arms twine slowly around his waist, a warm body curling itself up against his back, a chin hooking over his shoulder - it was something he sunk into instantly with every part of himself, every inch of his being feeling gooey and malleable.

“Mm, I thought you were staying in bed,” Blaine murmured, covering Kurt’s arms around his bare torso with one of his own, a spatula in his other hand.

“In the interest of honesty,” Kurt sighed, tugging Blaine impossibly closer. “If I had spent another second by myself, I would have started freaking out.”

 _We’ll figure it out,_ Blaine wanted to reassure him instantly, as empty as the promise may have been. _If this is something real, if this is worth it, we’ll find a way. And I think it is. I think it’s real, and I think it’s worth it. I think you’re worth it._

But as much as he wanted those things to be true, he _couldn’t_ promise.

He didn’t even know if he could _try_ to make it happen.

It was going to have to end.

“Thank you for being honest,” he said instead, turning his head and leaning away just enough to press a kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth. 

And it _was_ worth thanking Kurt for that, for his honesty - it was Kurt being vulnerable, Kurt letting his walls down, Kurt _trusting._

One of the only things Blaine _could_ promise, at least to himself, was that he’d never break Kurt’s trust.

It was one of the most valuable gifts he had ever been given.

Kurt stayed there, wrapped around Blaine, while the pancakes cooked, swaying their bodies from side to side, thumbing gentle circles over Blaine’s hip bones, running a ghost of a touch up his chest and then along the waistband of his boxers, resting a warm palm against his belly, just touching, touching, _touching_ him, every point of contact leaving energy thrumming under Blaine’s skin in its wake. 

Of course, Blaine was acutely aware of how Kurt was pressed up against him, too, as much as he was trying to concentrate on appropriately flipping the pancakes. Because they _were_ pressed up together nearly from head to toe and solidly from shoulders to hips, and it felt like Kurt was _everywhere,_ skin against skin in every inch, apart from only their underwear _._ But even through their boxers, Blaine could feel the gentle line of Kurt’s cock firm and _real_ against the swell of his ass, too, and he had never wanted someone so _badly._

It was a different sort of want from the explosion of animalistic anger they had experienced together the night they were drunk, the night that already felt like months, years, a _lifetime_ ago.

It was a want that coiled slowly and warmly in the pit of his belly, a want that seeped into his mind and his heart and his body and his _soul,_ filling him with the desire to feel, to touch and to taste and to _revel_ in it, to preserve and cherish and _worship_ every single moment. 

And as much as Blaine _did_ want, and as much as he sensed that Kurt wanted, too, it was a feeling he wanted to explore, something he wanted to let evolve and develop to its highest possible point before letting it all come apart.

Because he knew that this would be the last time.

This was it.

And Blaine knew, too, that they _would_ have this, that the tension building between them could only result in one thing - one beautiful, _perfect_ thing, and if it all had to end, he wanted it, _needed_ it, to be the best it could possibly be.

They weren’t there yet - but soon.

_Soon, soon, soon._

“What should we do today?” Blaine wanted to know as he slid the last of the pancakes onto their plates, not-so-secretly hoping Kurt would say _nothing, just this, just you and me._

It still just felt like something he should ask, a way to make sure they were still on the same page - because although Blaine didn’t feel a single shred of doubt, he couldn’t help but recognize the uncanniness of how _odd,_ how unexpected it all was, even in all of its bliss.

“I really, really don’t care,” Kurt said breathlessly, voice light and shaky, almost as if he were surprised by his own answer as he spoke it into the air. “I just…”

He trailed off, any semblance of explanation falling dead in his mouth, but Blaine knew.

He understood.

“I know. I know,” he sighed, setting down the spatula before finally giving in and turning around, reaching up to cup Kurt’s face in his slightly floury, slightly sticky hands.

It was a bittersweet reverence, holding Kurt, smiling at him, kissing him, receiving all of those things in return.

But for the moment, they just looked at one another - soft, knowing, constant.

“We should just… We should just be us today. Can we be?”

Kurt sounded so tentative, so unsure in a way Blaine had never heard quite him before - it wasn’t the brokenness of that night out on the balcony, and it wasn’t the intensity of his anger, but it was the sound of a man shaken, of a man unsure of everything he had ever known.

Blaine felt the same way.

But it was a stark contrast to how settled, how quietly _confident_ Kurt had been the previous night, in his _you make me want other things, too,_ in his _kiss me, just kiss me,_ in his every movement and touch and glance.

There was a striking simplicity to it all, though, rooted in Blaine's complete and utter inability to say _no._

The idea of there even _being_ an _us,_ a _them,_ even for a day-

Nothing could compare to the way even the _thought_ of it made Blaine feel.

And then, instead of answering with words, Blaine rocked forward onto the balls of his feet just enough to capture Kurt’s lips in a slow, languid kiss, and _oh._

 _That_ was even better.

Blaine realized he was smiling against Kurt’s mouth only when Kurt began to smile, too, silly and impractical, and he slid his arms around Kurt’s neck, pressing their bodies together again, _holding, holding, holding_ him, drinking in Kurt’s smile and letting the absolute sunshine of it seep into his bones.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kurt murmured as they broke apart, hands coming to rest low on Blaine’s hips, fingers brushing just slightly over the curve of Blaine’s ass as they settled, _god._

When Blaine’s eyes fluttered open, all he could see was _blue,_ swirls of blues and greens and grays and dark, blown pupils, _intent, wanting, asking,_ and Blaine instantly wanted to _give,_ felt the concentrated heat of Kurt’s gaze in every part of himself - energy coursing through his veins and his bloodstreams, breath hitching deep in his lungs, heat coiling in his belly and channeling down to his toes, cock throbbing lowly in response to it, too, acutely aware of where he’s slotted perfectly against the juncture between Kurt’s hip and his thigh-

 _“Yes,”_ he breathed shakily, exhaling the last trickles of doubt, of guilt, of uncertainty, pouring every bit of _feeling_ he could muster into another kiss - it was all he could think to do.

Night would fall, and the sun would rise again, and it would be time for them to pack up their things and go, leaving not a trace of proof behind that they were ever there.

It would be time for them to go back home, back to their separate apartments and husbands and _lives,_ their separate _everything._ And what would Blaine _say_ to Dave, and what would he do about his research study interview, and what would he do about his _heart,_ inevitably shattering the moment they leave the lake house, _I already forget how to be without you, what am I going to do, how am I going to survive or even just exist, how can I remember how to breathe when you’re not there, I don’t even know your phone number-_

_Wait._

Not yet.

Night would fall, and the sun would rise again, but _not yet._

They still had an entire day, an entire night’s sleep, an entire drive together - to be _them._

And so instead of taking another moment or breath or inkling of a thought to wonder and worry and spiral, Blaine poured everything he had into the man in his arms, into living in the moment.

He wanted to give Kurt everything, and he knew, deep inside of himself, that he already had.

* * *

Pancakes had never tasted so good.

There was an extra little something in them - ricotta, Blaine told him, another family recipe - adding moisture, a bit of tang, the perfect balance of sweetness and tartness from the blueberries, fluffiness from the pancakes themselves-

At least, those were all things Kurt _would_ have noticed if he weren’t so captivated by the man sitting beside him, chairs scooted as close together as possible, ankles locked underneath the table - touching, always touching.

Part of him wondered _how_ he wasn’t sick of Blaine yet.

In fact, it was like he couldn’t get _enough._ Every sound of Blaine’s voice left Kurt’s ears aching for more, every fleeting touch made Kurt want to reach out to _feel_ again, every kiss made him more and more hungry - _desperate,_ almost, to be sated, to be nourished and fed and soothed, only by Blaine, only by Blaine’s mouth and his hands and his _everything._

And it wasn’t in a sexual way - at least, not entirely, though he _craved_ Blaine in that way, too, an itch slowly but surely creeping into the forefront of his mind, poking and prodding and nagging with no sign of subsiding until- _until._

Kurt just felt so _drawn_ to Blaine, eager to breathe him in and soak him up and consume everything Blaine would offer, only to give it all back in return.

In a way, their finite ending, their time limit, almost felt _safe._ It felt like a guaranteed end, and as much as Kurt wished it _wouldn’t_ end, it was _still_ a guarantee - there was no unknown, no risk, no _failure_ involved.

Not with Blaine, at least.

The aftermath would be different, but Blaine - Blaine offered a clean break that Kurt had never once been afforded before, and though Kurt _knew_ his heart would ache for Blaine after they parted, he also knew it was going to regardless.

 _You might as well enjoy it while it lasts,_ the voice whispered at the back of his head. _Remember this. Remember how he looks, how he tastes, how he laughs. You’ll never have it again because you’re too afraid to try keeping it._

_Remember Maine._

_Remember how it feels to be free, to feel light, to be happy._

_Remember, remember, remember._

And so Kurt committed to taking mental pictures of all of it - the look of pleasant surprise on Blaine’s face when Kurt fed him the last bite of pancakes, the mapley-syrupy taste of Blaine’s mouth when they kissed, the warm amber and caramel and honey hues of Blaine’s eyes, full of endless depth and _comfort_ as they looked at one another.

All of it - all of _him -_ was making the gentle thrumming of Kurt’s want shift into pure _need,_ swelling from deep within him and threatening to take over, pulling him in one direction with the gravitational force of a powerful magnet-

Towards Blaine, always towards Blaine.

And he could tell Blaine could feel it, too, that Blaine wanted and even needed _him,_ from the way his lips stayed slightly parted, the way his eyes flickered and drifted and _stayed_ on Kurt’s mouth, the way he was always finding a way to _touch,_ a way to stay connected, feet brushing under the table or thumb wiping a crumb off of Kurt’s face or hand resting on Kurt’s knee or _something,_ always something.

Always something, but Kurt needed _more._

He needed everything.

And in that moment, Blaine _was_ everything.

But what were they _waiting_ for?

Much like last time, much like the start of it all, there was a nearly tangible snap in the air between them, a burst in the electricity as they reached for one another in tandem and were suddenly kissing, instantly as a prelude to _more,_ mouths against mouths and lips slotted together and tongues brushing, perfectly sweet and wet and warm, and Kurt immediately couldn’t remember ever doing anything _else, how did I breathe without kissing you, how did I live without you-_

But completely unlike the last time, it was gentle and slow and _home._

It simply felt like coming home.

Kurt exhaled a ragged breath against Blaine’s mouth at the realization of it, reaching up to twine the fingers of one hand into Blaine’s soft, tangled curls, the other coming to wrap around Blaine’s waist, drawing him in - because once he got a taste of that feeling, of _home,_ for the first time in years and years and years, he couldn’t get enough of it, needed to let it _in_ and let it settle in the deepest, most private places inside of him, _inside…_

And somehow, by some well-aligned miracle, he wasn’t afraid to let the feeling in.

He wasn’t afraid to let _Blaine_ in.

If every fear he had ever had, every moment of misplaced disdain and hatred and _anger,_ every regret for every decision made out of cowardice, if every failure and mistake led him to _this_ moment, to sitting in nothing but his underwear in an uncomfortable wooden chair up in the practical _wilderness,_ of all things and of all places, kissing a man who tasted like blueberries and who wasn’t his husband, finally feeling free and light and _worth_ something, _finally-_

Maybe it was all worth it, even if this exact moment was the _only_ one they could have.

He just had to make the most of it - and he suddenly wanted so much more than sitting side-by-side, chair arms digging into their sides as they leaned over them and in towards each other, closer, closer, closer.

_This could be the last time you’re happy. This could be the last time you ever feel anything close to this._

And so Kurt broke apart just enough for their mouths to separate with a soft _smack,_ and he took a moment to breathe, still so near that he felt like he was breathing the air into Blaine’s lungs and like Blaine was filling his own.

“We should move-” 

“I want to-”

They both spoke at the same time, voices already halfway to wrecked and full of longing, cracked and raw. 

And then it made them laugh at the same time, too, breathless and light, and Blaine’s eyes reflecting joy, sparkling with it, were practically all Kurt could see in their proximity.

Pure gold, pure _warmth,_ nothing ever warmer.

“I want to take my time with you,” Blaine spoke first as their laughter faded, just a faint whisper, reaching up with one hand to cup Kurt’s jaw, his palm warm and fingers wide, their tips five points of electricity that Kurt felt down to his toes, anchoring him and setting him afloat all at once.

A breath hitched in Kurt’s throat at the sound of the words and the meaning of them, shifting into a broken whimper as Blaine pressed hot, suckling kisses across Kurt’s jaw, slowly down his neck, pausing to work at his pulse point.

Each and every moment was slow, purposeful, saying under no uncertain terms that _this is what I want to do to every inch of you,_ and Kurt had never _ever_ wanted to give someone else control, particularly not over _him,_ particularly not in a situation that required so much vulnerability and _intimacy, break me apart and put me back together, in that way only you can._

But in that moment, he was at risk of crumbling under the weight of how much he _craved_ exactly that.

“Yes, _god,”_ he agreed in a rush barely more than a breath, eyes rolling back and falling shut as he leaned his head back for more, more, _more._ His fingers tightened in Blaine’s hair, threaded and tangled in the thick of his curls, caught between wanting to hold him in place or pull him closer or yank him _up_ to kiss his lips again or push him down to feel that _mouth_ lower, hotter, _everywhere._

More than anything, he needed _more_ of Blaine than the chairs at the kitchen table could ever allow - and so after another series of kisses and nips down his neck, along his collarbone, _please don’t leave a mark but also maybe I want you to so I have proof that this was ever real,_ Kurt managed to resurface well enough to tug Blaine back, aching for a breath.

Kurt _felt_ the look in Blaine’s eyes more than anything else when his own fluttered open again, all dark, driven heat luring him in and keeping him there, going straight to his cock, _jesus._

It left him speechless, but Blaine seemed to understand because _of course_ he did, getting up and gently guiding Kurt to do the same with a hand around his elbow.

In the back of his mind, Kurt was vaguely aware of the twinge of pain remaining in his ankle, of the goosebumps on his mostly-bare skin from the cold air outside creeping in, even the slightly uncomfortable taste in his mouth from coffee and the residual sourness of sleep, but none of it mattered as he stood, and none of it mattered when Blaine laced their fingers together and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his temple, and it still didn’t matter as Kurt followed him upstairs and into the bedroom.

In fact, Blaine was on the precipice of taking over every part of Kurt’s universe, and when they fell back onto the bed, Kurt on his back with Blaine hovering over him, Blaine not only eclipsed the sun entirely, but he _became_ it.

He was everything, and Kurt was entirely his.

They had slept together naked, had worn only underwear at the _most_ for the entire morning and better part of the previous evening, but laying there with Blaine on top of him, just _looking_ down at him like he _meant_ something, Kurt had never felt more exposed, more stripped down to the bare essence of his soul, wholly defenseless and entirely vulnerable.

It was a feeling that had once terrified him - in very recent history, in fact. It was a feeling that he had avoided at all costs, had completely and irrevocably equated with _failure._

With Blaine, it was quickly becoming a feeling Kurt felt _safe_ exploring, like he knew Blaine wasn’t going to hurt him or turn on him, like he knew Blaine was going to pull him out the other side.

Time was stopped entirely, the very atmosphere elastic and pure molasses as Blaine leaned down to mold his lips to Kurt’s again, elbows bracketing Kurt’s head, legs straddling his hips. Though it started out slow, the kiss grew quickly in its heat and its intensity, and it wasn’t long before Blaine was lowering himself more to press their bodies together in every possible point of connection, their half-hard cocks brushing through only the cotton of their briefs.

“Fuck,” Kurt gasped at the contact, breath stuttered and shaky against Blaine’s mouth as he gave himself over to the feeling, already aching for more. His hands quickly found Blaine’s ass, digging in his fingertips and dragging him closer as they continued to move together, seeking friction in the repetition of their motion.

The heat was building insistently inside of him, coiling low in his belly and searching for more, but Blaine kept his movements slow, rocking slow and insistently down into Kurt and finding the sweet spot instantly, _yes, right there,_ kissing with just as much intent and just as little hurry.

_I want to take my time with you._

Kurt had become so used to rushing through sex, laying back and _taking_ it more than anything else, allowing Adam to use him for the one thing he was still wanted for, whether he _wanted_ to be wanted for that or not.

He was used to relinquishing control during sex and sex only, not because he wanted to and not because he trusted Adam to take care of him, but because sacrificing his control in bed had become the best way he could think of to _keep_ control everywhere else - to hold onto his routine, to hold onto his marriage, to hold onto the hope that if he _looked_ happy and successful, he would somehow feel it, too.

Of course, that had all changed the night he had pinned Blaine down into the mattress and fucked into him with the culmination of all the lack of control, lack of satisfaction, lack of _connection_ coming to a head, causing Kurt to lose himself entirely.

And Blaine had allowed it - opening his mouth to Kurt’s kisses and Kurt’s tongue, baring his neck for Kurt’s mouth, too, spreading his legs and laying on his belly and taking it because he _wanted_ to, not because he felt he _had_ to, not because it felt like some fucked up currency exchange in order to preserve his life-

As wrong as it should have been, and as wrong as it _was,_ it had felt like a revolution.

But it was nothing compared to _this._

When Kurt had rushed, when Kurt had been all fire and electricity, Blaine was a slow, steady wash of warmth, encouraging and gentle, making the most of each and every step along the way as opposed to always seeking out the end goal.

In every kiss, as Blaine strayed away from Kurt’s mouth in favor of working his way down his neck and chest, pausing at his collarbones, his nipples, as he moved lower and lower, Kurt felt more and more convinced to enjoy the moment, too, to enjoy each touch and every sensation that came after, reveling in the rippling thrum of pleasure, all at the hands of _Blaine, Blaine Blaine._

For the first time, Kurt genuinely and wholeheartedly _wanted_ to relinquish the control he so desperately tried to hang onto - because with Blaine, it was different.

With Blaine, he could trust, and he could let himself go, and he could hold onto the knowledge that he would be brought out the other side, that Blaine would take care of him.

Kurt _trusted Blaine to take care of him._

The realization hit him like a tidal wave, a stark contrast to the pleasant warmth pulsing through his veins, and a breath hitched in his chest, exhaling as a small, pitiful whimper as tears prickled in his eyes.

He _trusted_ Blaine even after everything, even after the hurt and pain Blaine had indirectly caused him and the _direct_ hurt and pain he had caused more recently. He trusted Blaine when he didn’t trust his own husband, and he trusted Blaine to _not_ take advantage of his vulnerability and openness, to take him apart with his mouth and his hands, to put him back together and _hold_ him there in the end…

But this was the last time.

This was the _only_ time Kurt could and _would_ ever feel this way, could ever feel like he trusted someone with everything he had to offer, good and bad and in between, could ever truly _feel_ deep in his bones that he was _worth_ something, that he was cherished and wanted and valuable and special and-

And loved.

_Loved._

He couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t understand, couldn’t focus, overwhelmed by Blaine’s mouth sucking marks into his hips, fingers of one of Blaine’s hands threaded through Kurt’s own, holding on tight, fingers of the other ghosting gently up and down Kurt’s inner thigh, brushing against the bulge of his cock in his underwear, overwhelmed by the _feeling, oh god, I can’t breathe, please, Blaine-_

“Kurt?” 

Kurt was vaguely aware of Blaine’s voice, of the feeling of Blaine’s body lifting and pulling away with cold, _cold_ air in its place, _come back, please, I need-_

“Hey, hey,” Blaine breathed, voice soft and warm and _home_ in Kurt’s ear, grounding him with the gentle weight of his body coming to rest atop Kurt’s again, hand coming to cup Kurt’s face, thumb across brushing his cheek. “What-”

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry,” Kurt exhaled shakily, reaching up to thread his fingers of one hand in Blaine’s curls, the other arm coming to wrap around him, holding him there, _please don’t leave, I didn’t mean to ruin it, please stay, I might float away if you go._

He felt like every part of himself was reaching out, _searching_ for something, but he wasn’t sure what, couldn’t focus on any of it - searching for pleasure and release, driven by his cock, searching for safety and support, driven by his heart, somehow also searching for punishment and retribution, driven by his mind and his ever-intrusive thoughts, searching for _everything._

Reaching out, searching, and finding Blaine.

_Hold onto him._

Blaine shifted to hover overtop him again, leaning their foreheads together so their eyes locked, Blaine’s gaze as warm and gentle as the continuous stroking of his thumb, as every kiss and touch and word had been thus far.

“I’ve got you,” Blaine promised in a soft murmur, close enough for Kurt to _feel_ the words against his own mouth, the breath and the movement of his lips. “Just… Just be with me right now, okay? It’s just us. I-If you still want-“

“I-I do,” Kurt whimpered immediately, unable to bear hearing any shred of doubt vocalized, afraid of scaring Blaine or _himself_ away from what he so desperately needed. “I...I want you.”

And he did, and when Blaine let out a shaky breath and wordlessly kissed him, soft and sweet and slow and _perfect,_ Kurt knew that Blaine wanted, too. 

_It’s just us._

The idea of just _being_ with another person had never brought Kurt so much comfort.

And so by some small mercy, things got easier after that. 

It was like they started from square one, ending up rolling on their sides to curl into one another and just kiss, memorize the feeling of their mouths moving together, all tongues and lips and teeth, their legs tangled, hands roaming and touching every inch of one another, committing it all to memory.

_Remember Maine._

_Remember how it feels to be treasured, to feel held, to be wanted._

_Remember, remember, remember._

But it wasn’t long before Blaine was working his way down Kurt’s body again, and Kurt wanted more, felt like he was really and truly _ready_ for it, for _Blaine,_ actively _wanting_ in a way he hadn’t in so, so long, never with Adam, at least not since their earliest days, but maybe not even quite like _this,_ not _ever…_

“Blaine,” he moaned shakily as he felt Blaine mouth over his straining cock through his underwear, unable to think of any other word _but_ his name.

Blaine in every breath, in every heartbeat, in every feeling and rush and in _all_ of it.

“I’ve got you,” Blaine repeated in a low, sincere voice as he shifted to press a kiss to Kurt’s hipbone, fingers running under the waistband of Kurt’s briefs, dipping lower to just _barely_ graze a touch of the fingertips across the head of his cock- _fuck,_ it was such a _tease,_ agnozingly fleeting and Kurt was so _hard,_ hips jolting up of their own accord, and he _needed-_

_Blaine._

Blaine stripping off his underwear, Blaine wrapping a slow, sure hand around the length of Kurt’s cock, Blaine nipping and sucking marks along Kurt’s inner thigh.

Kurt was powerless to stop the long, shaky moan from escaping low in his throat at the first touch, _finally,_ and he briefly propped himself up on his elbows just enough to look down at Blaine, just enough to _see_ him, lips already cherry red and spit-slick, eyes dark and lust-blown, _I’ve never seen anything more beautiful, more perfect, more right-_

And then Blaine licked a long line up the underside of Kurt’s cock and promptly sunk his mouth down around it, and Kurt lost himself in it completely.

It was all tight, wet heat surrounding him, all-consuming and _overwhelming,_ leaving Kurt out of control of the noises he was making, of his fingers tangling into Blaine’s curls and _holding on,_ of his legs shifting and spreading and heels digging into the mattress, desperate for purchase, desperate for _anything_ to keep him within the confines of reality because Blaine was sending him spinning, spinning, _spinning._

There was no hope of Kurt remembering every detail of _this,_ of what Blaine was doing with his mouth and his hands, of the noises and the _vibration_ of _Blaine_ moaning, too, _shit-_ Kurt could only focus on the heat and the pleasure coiling insistently inside of him, tension building and mounting with only one possible outcome, only one possible end.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours before the culmination of it all was in sight, and Kurt couldn’t remember _ever_ having been brought so insistently, so _powerfully_ to his breaking point - never even the slightest dip in pleasure even when Blaine moved his tongue differently or broke away for a brief break in favor of working Kurt over with his hand, _always_ coming back with his mouth _always,_ so devastatingly _perfect_ in every way, _I think you were made for me, I was made for you, we were made for this-_

“I-I- Blaine-”

It was the best warning he could give, the best he could manage, focused acutely on _not_ giving in until he knew Blaine could take it, until he knew Blaine _wanted_ to take it, but Kurt knew, too, that the closer he got, the closer the _end_ of it all was, the sooner they would have to say goodbye, to let go, _please don’t make me._

But this was a different form of letting go in its own right, much more than being drawn to orgasm - it was the confirmation of _Kurt_ letting go of all of the control he had been clinging onto for so many years, the confirmation of the misguided and _falseness_ of all of it, control as a mask instead of a reality, control as defense and as protection instead of happiness.

This was Kurt accepting that whether he ever saw Blaine again after this, whether he gave in and got divorced or found a way to work out his marriage, regardless of any of that, Blaine had gotten under his skin and was going to _stay_ there no matter what - probably for the rest of his life.

Because no one in Kurt’s near-thirty years had _ever_ made him feel anything close to this.

When Blaine reached up blindly to tangle his fingers with Kurt’s, giving his hand a long squeeze in a wordless signal of approval, it all came to a head like a tidal wave, pleasure and resignation and acceptance and _connection_ washing over Kurt alongside his orgasm, stitched and threaded in every fiber of his being.

Of course Blaine worked him through it, of _course_ he did, swallowing around him and one hand still holding onto Kurt’s, fingers locked tight, the other gripping onto his hip, steady and sure as Kurt was wrecked with the intensity of coming, body wracked with tremors and shudders. It wasn’t until he felt overstimulated by all of it, panting and flushed and overwhelmed on _just_ the wrong side of too much, that he whimpered and tugged at Blaine’s hair, _too much, I can’t, please-_

And then Blaine’s mouth was gone, and Blaine’s hands were gone, and _that wasn’t what I wanted, not again, I didn’t mean-_

But he was back just as quickly, tucking himself up against Kurt, breathing shaky and shallow and rattled with a slow, wicked grin spread across his red, swollen lips, gazing at Kurt with all the intensity he had just felt rushing through his body and _more,_ looking at Kurt as if he had never seen _anything_ before, as if Kurt was something to see…

Kurt felt boneless, body melted into the mattress and awareness floating somewhere up above, hot energy thrumming low through his veins, Blaine at the root and center of all of it, _incredible._

“You’re incredible,” Kurt exhaled shakily, needing to _tell_ him, needing him to _know_ under no uncertain terms - there was no hatred, no resentfulness or anything _but_ complete and total awe of the man beside him. 

_Blaine._

There was so much more Kurt wanted him to know, so much more he wanted to _say,_ but he couldn’t think of the words to convey any of it properly, particularly not when Blaine was beaming at him like all the stars and the cosmos in the night sky - and so instead of saying anything else, he turned onto his side, and cupped Blaine’s jaw, pulling him into a long and deep and _dirty_ kiss, channeling the remaining dredges of his energy into it, trying to make it everything Blaine deserved, _I want to make this good, I want to be good for you._

Pausing to suck at Blaine’s bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth and tugging, eliciting a low, broken moan, working Blaine’s mouth open and his tongue inside, _tasting_ himself, _fuck,_ feeling Blaine’s hips jerk and _oh,_ when had Blaine taken his underwear off, trailing his fingers down Blaine’s sweaty torso, closer and closer to his cock - each movement fluid and dreamlike, all for _him._

“Please, Kurt, I-I don’t need much-” Blaine stuttered out, arm around Kurt’s back and fingers digging into his shoulders, pressing himself closer, closer, _closer,_ as if he _literally_ wanted to get under Kurt’s skin, too, as if nothing could ever be close enough, as if he wanted Kurt to consume him completely and _god,_ Kurt wanted it, too, wanted to never leave, wanted to become so intrinsically connected that they _never_ had to part, that they never had to face reality.

But he couldn’t do any of it - so instead, he ran his fingers along the length of Blaine’s cock before wrapping his palm around it, hoping he could, in some way, make Blaine feel even _half_ as much as Kurt had just felt himself.

When in truth, Blaine deserved a thousand times more.

* * *

Blaine was pleasantly surprised at the lightness he felt in his chest as he got up, at the floaty feeling he felt drifting to the bathroom for a washcloth and back.

There wasn’t a single ounce of regret or whisper of a question in his body or his mind - _this,_ this was where he was meant to be.

The feeling didn’t change, either, as he came back into the bedroom and caught sight of Kurt laying starfished in the strewn blankets, sheet tucked low around his waist, head tilted back onto his pillow, eyes closed and hair a mess, not a bit of tension evident in his face.

Kurt was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, simple as that.

“You came back,” Kurt murmured, keeping his eyes closed as Blaine sunk into the bed again, reaching to wipe the mess of come and sweat off of Kurt’s torso before cleaning his own. 

“Of course I did,” Blaine said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Kurt’s cheek as he settled down into the mattress, on his side and close but not quite leaning against Kurt with his body but leaving a hand lingering on his stomach for a single connecting touch, still giving Kurt the space and the ability to decide how much he wanted.

Because Blaine was willing to give anything, truly - especially after working Kurt to an orgasm that felt like an absolute _honor_ to provide, that seemed like it had an intensity Blaine hadn’t known he was even capable of.

And not only that, but _Kurt_ had given him a breathtaking, groundbreaking one in return, one he still felt pulsing warmly in his bloodstream even minutes later.

Blaine had never felt so close to another person - hadn’t even felt so close to _Kurt._

It was like they had reached a new level.

“What are you thinking about?” Blaine wanted to know as he gazed lazily at Kurt, watching his lips curl into a gentle smile, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths under his palm resting on Kurt’s stomach.

“I can’t believe I ever thought I hated you,” Kurt admitted, letting out a soft laugh. 

Even after everything, all of the glares and digs and jabs during the vast majority of time having known each other, Blaine couldn’t believe it, either.

It seemed completely insane - like hating music, like hating the sun, like hating fresh air and _breathing._

He couldn’t imagine hating Kurt in the slightest or even trying to - not anymore.

“Me either,” Blaine grinned, propping his head up on his folded elbow, butterflies swirling in his stomach as Kurt lifted up his hand and slowly twined their fingers together.

Blaine took it as a cue to shuffle closer, tucking his head into the crook of Kurt’s neck and ghosting a soft kiss there, settling into the comfortable quiet that blanketed around them.

It was perfect.

There was no other word for it - basking in the afterglow with Kurt was every part of his hopeless romantic daydreams come to life, an unrealistic fairytale in every way.

Yet it was real.

It was real, and it was _happening,_ but at the same time, it wasn’t.

At the same time, they were sharing a week suspended in time, completely separate from reality, completely _unable_ to fit into their established routines and lives and plans.

At the same time, this was all there was, all there could be.

Unless they were willing to risk every other thing in their lives, and as hopelessly romantic as Blaine _was,_ deep down inside-

He just wasn’t sure.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of _what if -_ what if things were different, what if we had gotten to know each other back then, what if, in some alternate universe…

“Do you think this is how it could always be for us, in another life?” Blaine asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it fully would shake the illusion masking the lives they _were_ truly living outside of the present moment.

Kurt was quiet for a long moment, save for a long, shaky exhale that Blaine felt the weight of under his arm, against his body. He waited, patiently as ever, reveling in the fact that he was no longer afraid of what Kurt was going to say - only curious, only eager.

“I think so,” Kurt admitted just as quietly, free hand tracing aimlessly patterns up and down Blaine’s back, constantly moving, constantly soothing. “If… If I weren’t so afraid of change.”

“If I didn’t think easiness meant happiness,” Blaine echoed softly, wanting to offer just as much of himself to Kurt as he was getting. This was important, this was real - this was _them._

And it was true. He had equated the easiness he and Dave shared with love for so long, had never even questioned it until his entire world was turned upside down, until everything changed all at once.

 _Change -_ the thing Kurt was so afraid of, clinging so hard onto stability instead, so similar to Blaine but in such different ways.

It was interesting, really, how Kurt managed to find comfort in such a blatantly unhappy marriage, at least from what he had told Blaine - but Blaine couldn’t judge, couldn’t blame him for it, couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t do the same.

Stability, complacency, normalcy - whatever the name, whatever the appearance, the comfort was the same, in its own way.

_But what if comfort is overrated? What if all of it is?_

“If I wasn’t such a...a coward.”

Instantly, Blaine wanted to deny it, wanted to convince Kurt otherwise, wanted to tell him how strong and warm and _brave_ he thought Kurt was - but it wasn’t what Kurt needed.

It wasn’t what they were doing, not right now.

“If I knew to be loved for who I really am,” Blaine mumbled instead, thinking of all the things he still needed to tell Kurt, all the things he would run out of time to explain - thinking of his family, thinking of being raised by a father who he constantly felt the need to impress, a mother who never quite looked at him the same way after he came out, a brother who was always so focused on himself that he couldn’t truly understand Blaine. 

Thinking of gravitating towards the spotlight but never being wanted and appreciated for who _he_ was beneath the persona, beneath the dancing and the acting and the singing. Thinking of finding companionship in Dave and latching onto it, believing it was the best he could ever get, but never experiencing passion with another human being, not until-

“If I ever did anything to even deserve it.”

“You _do_ deserve it, Kurt,” Blaine breathed, propping himself up to look him in the eyes, insistent and honest in his gaze. _Please hear me, please believe me, no matter what happens, hear these words._ “You… You deserve _everything_ good in the world a-and more. If I… I-If I could give it to you-”

“You _have_ given it to me,” Kurt choked out as he pulled Blaine closer, reaching up to card his fingers through his curls, eyes shining with tears that Blaine wanted nothing more than to will away. “You- You’re just… You _are_ everything, Blaine, a-and I was so blinded by my own stupid _ego_ all this time _,_ I… There’s no way I deserve even this much from you.”

_You are everything._

_God,_ what was there to say to that?

How could Blaine _take_ that, when _Kurt_ was the one who was everything, who was even _more_ than Blaine ever thought possible?

“Kurt,” he exhaled shakily, completely overcome by the tears welling in his eyes, by his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, of his entire body _yearning_ for him, to be closer, to hold him in every possible way. 

“I-I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. For… For everything.”

It was an apology Blaine hadn’t thought he needed, one he immediately wanted to reject, to brush off, but as the words sunk in, as he saw the look in Kurt’s red-rimmed eyes, the tear rolling down his cheek, felt Kurt’s light touches in his hair, on his bare skin, and - of course - honey, _honey-_

It felt like the one last step of _clearing_ everything between them, the one final check of a box on the list of _how to make things okay between us, if nothing else._

It felt like the years of hurt from insults Blaine had tried and failed not to let get to him, finally absolved, finally set free and released, leaving nothing but _possibility._

_Maybe he’s worth it._

_Maybe he’s worth giving everything else up for._

Blaine wanted to cry, wanted to crumple under the weight of it all, the fear of how _badly_ or even of how _well_ it could all go, and _what if Kurt doesn’t want me back, what if he lets go and I don’t, what if we aren’t on the same page…?_

But still-

_You are everything._

There had to be a chance.

There had to be a way to convince him - or maybe, just maybe, it was what Kurt already wanted, too.

But the first step was smaller, and so Blaine leaned forward to kiss Kurt softly, slowly, pouring in all of the feelings - passion and warmth and even _love,_ terrifyingly enough - into it, _still not enough, never enough._

“I forgive you,” he breathed against Kurt’s lips, and _there_ it was. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

At least in _this_ very moment, they were.

And if that was all that could be guaranteed, well - 

The current moment was better than nothing at all.


	8. Day Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow...hi! I'm here, and this is happening. it's hard to believe - I never thought it would take so long for me to write any chapter, especially of this fic, which is so incredibly important to me. I hate that it took so long, but I had hopes of doing it properly, of giving their story the voice it deserved.
> 
> I have exactly no promises for when the next chapter will be out. I have the rest of the fic outlined and planned in my head, and I hope it'll come a little easier. but if you're here, and if you're reading, I appreciate you so, so much. thank you for sticking around - I am so incredibly committed to finishing this story, and I hope it'll be worth the wait.

Blaine had been looking forward to one last lazy morning with Kurt, and he enjoyed it immensely - it ended up being nothing but a last few hours inside their bubble of serenity and solitude, all Kurt’s soft skin under his hands, lazy smiles, ridiculously drawn-out gazes, fondness soaked in every moment.

And then it was a steamier closeness as they dragged themselves into the shower, the hot water waking up their minds and their bodies, wet and soapy and slick and tension and release and _pleasure,_ right up against the tiled wall, _one last time._

One last time.

He had slept soundly the night before, too, impossibly boneless and every inch of his soul satiated after rounds of sex and a dinner cooked together and a sunset view from the back porch, Kurt’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind, holding him near.

Even with the end so imminently in sight, he had felt so well-settled, immersed in all of it, at peace.

He was okay, too, even as they packed their things, even as they loaded up the car, even as Kurt hesitated before climbing into the passenger seat, instead pulling Blaine into a long, tight hug right there in the gravel driveway, clinging closely and clinging desperately, fingers nearly digging into Blaine’s back through his jacket. 

Blaine just held on, and he held close, and he stayed in Kurt’s arms for as long as Kurt needed him there, focusing on his willingness to give anything and everything instead of the nagging awareness in the back of his mind that he needed it just as much, too.

He was keeping it together, and he had _been_ keeping it together almost the entire time, a lot better than Kurt had - he was doing well, keeping busy and staying in the moment, prepared to sort out the rest later, because his heart, his _heart,_ had taken charge and remained that way, was keeping Kurt as the focal point, the entire rest of the universe faded irrelevantly somewhere into the background.

Everything was fine, even as Blaine got into the car and gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and just took a moment to try to remember how to _breathe_ while Kurt eyed him cautiously - it was about to _not_ be fine, but they were in the final few hours of it _actually_ being fine, their drive home a weird in-between transitional state but an in-between nonetheless, and so there was a chance it could _stay_ fine for a little longer, if they could keep blocking out the real world the way they had been.

But it was suddenly getting much, much more difficult.

They drove in silence, nothing but the sound of the air whizzing past them on the highway and the car motor and, occasionally, the sound of Kurt shifting, of Kurt breathing, of Kurt _existing,_ right there beside Blaine.

The quiet was suffocating, doing nothing to help the intrusive thoughts prodding in the back of Blaine’s mind, but he wasn’t about to turn on the radio, wasn’t about to drown out _any_ piece of Kurt, not when there were so few pieces left to take in, to notice and to remember.

Fewer and fewer by the minute, by the mile, until there would be nothing left.

And then Blaine caught sight of the GPS on his phone, a nearly seven-hour trip duration suddenly dwindled down to exactly six, ticking down to five hours and fifty-nine minutes, then fifty-eight, counting down, counting down, unmistakably glaring evidence of the _end._

That was it - all at once nothing was fine, _he_ wasn’t fine, nothing had ever _been_ fine, and he was ready to crawl out of every inch of his skin, feeling out of control of even the wheel in his hands. 

Living in the moment was impossible when the end was so clear, so unmoving, so unsettlingly _certain._

When Kurt reached over and gently placed a hand on Blaine’s thigh, just because he could, just to touch, just to _connect,_ it nearly pushed him over the edge.

Blaine was mere breaths away from hyperventilating, mere blinks away from crying, and he _knew_ Kurt could tell, knew he could _sense_ it, from the way Kurt’s hand got a little heavier on his thigh, a grounding point of contact, from the way Kurt turned to look at him, eyes nothing but blues and greens and _concern,_ even just from Blaine’s peripheral vision.

And then the question came, the first words spoken since they merged onto the highway countless miles ago, Kurt’s voice soft yet rattling Blaine to his core.

“Do you need to pull over?”

It was full of knowing, of inherent understanding, not a _what’s wrong_ or an _are you okay_ because Kurt already _got_ it, Kurt was there threaded closely through all of it, right there with him, the only living creature in the universe who _could_ know and even begin to understand.

But they were in the middle of nowhere, all trees and patches of grass and weeds and farmland, little houses and barns indicative of lives so much more simple, lives that suddenly seemed so much more _free -_ which also meant there were no parking lots to pull into, nowhere for them to go or stop or _be._

Nowhere outside of the lake house for them to be together, alongside the highway or in the realistic world at all.

“I-I don’t- There’s nowhere I can...” 

_Nowhere I can be okay, nowhere I can be with you anymore, nowhere to save us, can we go back, can we please-_

“Honey, just take the exit,” Kurt insisted softly, rubbing his thumb in gentle, reassuring sweeping motions against the outer seam of Blaine’s pants, hand slightly cool from the fabric, the sound of Kurt calling him _honey_ grabbing his heart and twisting, wrenching, _will this be the last time I hear him call me that, will this be the last time he touches me right here, looks at me this way?_

“Okay. Okay,” Blaine managed, gripping the wheel almost painfully tightly in an attempt to stay in control, to not shake and launch off the road entirely. 

He wasn’t sure where he was going, had no idea where to stop, but if Kurt told him to go - he was going to go.

As it turned out, the next exit was a quiet one, not many cars around or buildings, either, scattered with small houses on large plots of land, and so Blaine took a few random turns, unsure he was keeping track of how to get back to the highway but not caring in the slightest, _wanting_ to get lost, wanting an excuse for not going back, for having to stay.

All at once, he felt unable to breathe, unable to focus, unable to push away or hold back or _function_ anymore, and so he stopped the car on the side of the road with a jolt, and he pushed the door open the moment he parked, and he shoved out into the cool air and gasped for the breath he couldn’t take.

Soon after, Blaine felt his face crumple as the dam of his tears broke, and he was crying, a thick, heavy sob rippling from his throat, crying for everything he and Kurt could have had, everything they could have been, crying for himself for being a disappointment and a cheater, crying for Dave for the same reasons, guilt and regret and shame and _fear-_

But then Kurt was there, arms around him and pulling him close, a steadfast pillar of Blaine’s heart exemplified, an immediate reminder of why all of this happened, of why all of this had been worth it.

_Was it worth it?_

Was a future worth ruining for only a handful of memories from a past that would only get further and further away, inevitably fading and running together and conflating because that was just what memories did, regardless of their importance?

But all the same, Blaine was _changed,_ a far cry from who he was only a week prior, eyes opened and heart swelled in his chest and unrealistic _possibility_ stuck in his mind, _you can have this, you can keep him, you have to fight and you have to climb a mountain, but you can do it, you can have him, have each other._

Was risking everything in Blaine’s well-established life, happy or not, worth risking _ruining_ the sanctity of what he shared with Kurt?

Because _what if_ it didn’t work, what if he ended up alone and heartbroken and _crushed_ at the end regardless, what if it _did_ work for a while but what if Kurt became complacent, too, and what if he became resentful for what Blaine made him give up, and what if Kurt started hating him again, what would he do, how could he keep _breathing-_

Blaine wanted to run.

He wanted to grab Kurt’s hand, and he wanted to run and pull him along, right back to Maine, to lock the doors of the lake house and _stay_ there until their dying days and all the days beyond that, until the very end of time.

But instead, he buried his face into Kurt’s neck, and he trembled, and he cried, and he let Kurt hold him right there on the side of the road, silently hoping against all hope that he would never, ever have to let go.

* * *

There was a strange sort of intimacy in driving Blaine’s car, in sitting in Blaine’s driver’s seat, in gripping Blaine’s steering wheel, in being _trusted_ to drive properly and keep them safe, keep _Blaine_ safe.

But Blaine was in no shape to drive, and so after his tears subsided and there was nothing else to do or to say, Kurt slid into the driver’s side of the car without asking, without offering, just _doing._

It was something Kurt could do to care for Blaine the way Blaine had cared for him all week, a small bit of repayment for all of the things Kurt regretted, for all of the words he could never take back.

And Blaine let him.

Kurt was beginning to wonder if Blaine would let him do _anything,_ in fact, at least in this moment, at least before they went back to their normal lives - or went back to ruin them, rather.

It was a power he held close to his chest, promised himself not to take advantage of.

It was a power he once _would_ have taken advantage of, using it to work his way to the top and push Blaine down in the process, whether it was in the face of an audition, a school showcase, _anything…_

Not anymore, though - no matter what happened between them, he would _never_ go back to treating Blaine the way he once did.

Not after actually getting to know him, getting to know his heart, his body, his _soul,_ not after bearing all of his own in return _._

Instead, Kurt drove for Blaine, and he stayed strong for Blaine, and he cared for Blaine, for as long as he could.

And he thought.

He thought about how much there still was that he _didn’t_ know about Blaine, from his middle name to his birthday to his favorite foods, from how he acted at home with his husband to how he acted when he was truly in his element, on the stage, without Kurt trying to pull him down.

He didn’t know what Blaine would be like once they got home, didn’t know if he would ever hear from Blaine again, didn’t know if Blaine still wanted to fix his marriage or leave his husband or just- do nothing at all.

He didn’t even know if Blaine had any regrets about what they’d shared, if Blaine had any hopes or desires to try to _continue_ along the path they were taking, if it were even possible at all.

But suddenly, Kurt needed to know _something,_ at the very least, as if learning about Blaine would help Kurt figure himself out, too.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asked, voice nearly caught in his throat as it emerged, cutting through the thick silence that had held them for countless miles. And of course, Kurt wasn’t sure of his _own_ answer to that question, wasn’t sure if he would be able to get the words out about Blaine to anyone, especially not to Adam. 

Although Kurt was looking at the road, he could see Blaine jolt out of the corner of his eye, jumping as if cold water had been doused on him, then deflating as if that were enough to put out the fire in his soul entirely.

He regretted asking instantly, regretted introducing reality into the carefully-blown bubble around them, but he knew he had to do it.

They needed to figure it out.

“I… I’m not sure I’d be able to keep it from him even if I wanted to,” Blaine admitted quietly, sounding as if he hated himself for it, for being so transparent. But that was something Kurt had quickly come to know and to _love,_ truthfully, the way Blaine wore his heart on his sleeve, along with his emotions.

Considering how guarded and secretive Adam so often was, Kurt knew in his gut that it was something about Blaine that he’d miss the most.

“I’m not sure Adam would even care,” Kurt huffed out, a butchered laugh without a hint of humor in it. And he truly wasn’t - it was still enough of a surprise that Adam wanted to do the experiment in the first place, cared enough to put in a weeks' worth with a supposed stranger for the sake of their marriage. 

The only tenderness Adam had shown him in ages was when he was trying to get Kurt to agree to applying, and Kurt couldn’t remember another time before that. He couldn’t remember the last time Adam had loved him just for the pure sake of it - without trying to get something out of Kurt, without trying to get sex or a favor or something in return. 

Some marriage that was.

“He might,” Blaine said softly, though he didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. He sounded like he didn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth, and Kurt didn’t believe them for a second, either.

But somehow, he wasn’t upset.

Somehow, it didn't matter as much as it used to.

* * *

The miles on the GPS continued to dwindle down. It was steady, but it felt far too quick, far faster than the speed on the odometer, the trip much shorter than it had been on the way there.

They stopped for gas near the New York state line, Blaine at the pump while Kurt went inside to use the bathroom. He came out with a packet of Twix for them to share, one bar for each of them, and the sheer domesticity of it settled inside of Blaine's chest, to become a bittersweet memory, among the last of the tender moments they'd have together.

But instead of crying, instead of breaking down like he did only hours prior, Blaine took the chocolate bar after climbing back into the driver's seat, and he leaned over to kiss Kurt softly in thanks, tasting chocolate and caramel and a perfect sweetness, and he was back to feeling okay.

He really, truly felt okay.

And he _stayed_ feeling okay for the rest of the drive, as they settled in a comfortable silence for the duration, nothing of importance left to say.

It wasn't until they made it through the city traffic and pulled into Blaine's parking deck that he realized there were actually _hundreds_ of things they should have talked about - thousands, millions, infinite.

There were things Blaine simply _wanted_ to know about Kurt, craved the most mundane knowledge of his childhood, his past, his fears and his hopes and his dreams, his preferences, his habits, his guilty pleasures - a lifetime spent together wouldn’t have been enough to learn everything Blaine wanted to.

A handful of days barely scratched the surface, and he knew that. He accepted it.

But there were things Blaine _needed_ to know, too, and he didn’t realize it until he was pushing the car's gearshift into park, right back in the thick of the city, the home of their established lives, Kurt in his passenger seat for what were most likely the very last moments.

He needed to know what Kurt really, truly felt, if even the tiniest, most miniscule part of Kurt wanted to _try,_ to fight for _them,_ if Kurt would miss him, if Kurt would remember him.

If Kurt would regret it - any of it, all of it.

If Kurt would regret _him._

But turning in his seat to face Kurt for the last time, Blaine was suddenly too afraid to ask.

He was afraid, and he was overwhelmed - entirely overcome by the acute knowledge that the end was _happening,_ that they were there in the tail end of it with no means and no reasons to prolong it any longer, that they had to find a way to say goodbye, and they had to part. 

It paralyzed him, left him staring near-blankly at Kurt but not seeing him at all, kept his hands on his knees with his fingernails digging into the fabric of his pants, seized his vocal cords entirely, leaving him helpless and hopeless and useless.

Even if there were things they should have talked about, it was too late, anyways. 

There was nothing left to say that could make a difference, nothing left to do, nothing left for them at all.

Nothing.

But then Kurt surged forward in a startlingly fast but certain motion, and his hand came up to firmly cup Blaine’s face, and his eyes bore into Blaine’s with a fierceness that made him want to whimper, and Kurt was close, close, _closer,_ and then he paused.

He paused, drew in a long, shaky breath that Blaine could feel pulled straight from the dredges of his very own soul, stroked his thumb across Blaine’s cheekbone, and kissed him.

Soft, gentle, tender, sweet, impossibly languid, unhurried in every way - it was nothing like what their last kiss ought to have been, not in these circumstances, and it was a risk to even kiss in the city at all, especially to kiss in a place so familiar to Blaine, so _close_ to his own apartment, but he needed it, and Kurt needed it, and it felt like love.

It felt like _love._

It felt like the very thing he had wanted since he was old enough to understand what it was and what it wasn’t - that it _wasn’t_ what his parents had, that it _was_ what he so desperately craved, ached for in dark, lonely nights, searched for unfailingly in all aspects of his life. It felt like every feeling he’d ever shared with Dave magnified tenfold, _infinitely,_ contentment and passion, blazing fire and gentle waves of water, every star in the night sky and the sun, bright and bold, all of it, everything at once. 

There, nearly within reach, completely unrealistic, gone in a singular fluid motion along with Kurt himself, too, as he pulled away, took one final, long look at Blaine, turned, opened the door, and stepped out, taking an entire universe of alternate possibilities and paths and lifetimes along with him.

And Blaine sat, and he waited for Kurt to get his luggage out of the trunk, waited for Kurt to walk away, waited for him to be gone completely, didn’t allow himself to think or to feel or to breathe.

He waited, and then he got out of the car, gathered his things, and headed back to his apartment.

There was no room for anything else.

Of course, one week prior, Blaine would have expected to be looking forward to seeing Dave, to being reunited with his husband, re-energized and refreshed and _ready_ to work on their marriage and _improve_ it, to find love anew in Dave and set themselves up for the rest of their lives _together._

But finally coming to stand at his front door for the first time in days, bags at his feet in the hallway of his apartment building, he could barely will himself to get the keys out of his pocket. 

He already knew that the moment he opened the door, it wouldn’t feel like coming home - because it wasn’t. _This_ wasn’t home, not the apartment he’d lived in for years, not the life he had worked to build with Dave for even longer, not any of it.

Not anymore.

In fact, Blaine felt like he’d ripped himself _away_ from his home, left it behind, back in Maine, floating in the water, burning to ashes in the woods by the lake, the loss aching in his chest.

He had no choice, though, and he knew that.

And so he forced himself to press his key into the doorknob, unlock the door standing between himself and reality, and he pushed it open.

* * *

For Kurt, coming back to his apartment felt cold, impersonal, bleak.

Terrifying, too, but he wouldn’t quite let himself go there.

The apartment was empty, for one thing. It was empty, and it was dark, all of the lights off with everything just as he left it - as he and _Blaine_ left it.

Just like it was supposed to be.

He knew he should have been relieved that he beat Adam home, and a real part of him was. It gave him a moment to attempt to transition between the idealistic life he’d gotten a glimpse of and the one that was truly his own, though he had no idea how he was going to manage it. He had no idea how to face Adam, had no idea how to look into his eyes, listen to his voice, unknowing, unsuspecting. 

Though he had his suspicions of his own, Kurt truly _didn’t_ know whether his husband would care about what happened, whether Adam would be upset or shrug it off or somewhere in between, and he wasn’t sure, either, which outcome he preferred, which would hurt less.

But at least he had a little bit of time to himself to try to prepare.

Besides, as far as Adam knew, Kurt had been home all along, temporarily sharing their space with who should have been a total stranger, striking what should have been an awkward sort of truce - but had been anything but, absolute fire and electricity, awakening and vitalizing.

Kurt had barely settled himself on the couch, trying desperately to block out the memory of what had happened here, the match that was struck right where he was sitting, recent enough that he could count the days since on his hands, when he heard shifting and movement outside, then heard the door unlock.

 _Fuck._ Already.

It was happening, and it was happening _now,_ and Kurt knew he had to _do_ something, sat up straighter in an attempt to brace himself, but he felt adrift, entirely lost without the anchor of Blaine’s steadfast presence and understanding, and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if he could handle it all on his own-

“Kurt! Love, I _missed_ you! Come here-”

Though he had barely had the chance to breathe, let alone think through an approach, no amount of time could have prepared Kurt for the way Adam burst through the front door, left his bags in the hallway and made his way over in just a few quick, long strides, pulling Kurt up and gathering him in his arms and holding him tightly, _too_ tightly, kissing Kurt on his lips and cheeks and forehead, wrong, all of it wrong.

Adam’s arms around him felt too long, his body too wiry, too angular, the scent of his shampoo and his cologne too clean and too crisp, his lips too thin and kisses too firm, a stark contrast to the ever-present warmth of Blaine, in his touch and in his smell and in every part of him.

For someone Kurt had been with for years, Adam didn’t feel familiar in the slightest - nothing about this was bringing him comfort, no part of it soothing or reassuring.

All of it was different, _irreparably_ different, in the matter of a week.

All because _Kurt_ was different. Because _Kurt_ had changed in the very depths of his reawakened soul, either unable or sheerly unwilling to revert back to the man he so recently was.

But his steadfastness was wavering, quaking more intensely by the moment.

“Mm- Okay- Hi,” Kurt managed between Adam’s kisses, more and more caught off-guard with each and every one, peppered all across his face. Adam’s abrupt closeness felt suffocating instead of relieving, the exact opposite of how a touch from a husband should feel. 

Particularly considering it was the exact type of affectionate, enthusiastic, _genuine_ touch Kurt had ached for - and lacked - from Adam since he could truly remember.

It had been missing ever since England, at least, if not long before.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Adam murmured in Kurt’s ear, drawing him into a startlingly close embrace all over again. It was beginning to feel like it wasn’t ever going to end, like he was never going to step away or let Kurt out of his grasp, and it was terrifying in a way Kurt couldn’t ignore anymore.

The idea of being held by Adam forever _terrified_ Kurt, shook him to his very core, whether it was being held literally in his arms or symbolically by their marriage, by the life they were building together.

It terrified him into absolute stillness, numbness, shock, _submission,_ leaving him unable to do anything but let it happen.

And he continued to let it happen as Adam began to kiss him again - with clear intent this time. His kisses were deeper now, deliberate in their movements, more searching, and Kurt knew what his husband wanted. It was a slower approach than Adam usually took, but it was an approach all the same, and Kurt didn’t want it.

But he didn’t know if he could handle anything else.

“We should… We should talk,” Kurt forced himself to attempt between gasps of breaths, coming shallow not out of pleasure but out of nerves, not out of wanting but out of dreading. He hated losing himself like this, felt like he was slipping under his sense of self and drowning in every uncomfortable sensation in being with Adam in this way, but he couldn’t stop it.

“Later, love,” Adam insisted, voice already gone gravely, kissing along Kurt’s jaw in short bursts. “Let’s… Reconnect first. Missed this.”

_Reconnect._

How could they reconnect with something as simple as sex when it had been years since they _were_ truly connected on any level? How could a kiss, a touch, a fuck be anything more than physical after days spent apart with no contact, after months and years spent with the unspoken barrier of _England_ between them? How could Adam possibly think this would make a difference?

And how was Kurt still unable to work up the courage to stop him, to stop _this,_ to stop _all_ of this, to embark on a change once and for all?

Instead, he just kept letting it happen.

He let Adam hold him, let Adam kiss him, let Adam pull him into the bedroom and lay him down on the bed, undress him, touch him, turn him over, get him ready, all of it.

And Kurt let his own body react, too, let himself kiss, undress, touch, too, let the moans ripple from his chest, let his cock ache with an instinctual desire, let his legs fall open for what came next.

But he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to sleep with Adam, didn’t want to _stay_ with Adam, didn’t want to let himself fall back into the unhappiness and the detachment and the rest of it.

For the most part.

But the masochistic side of him did.

It felt like some sort of punishment, a sort of retribution that he deserved, allowing Adam to rock into him from behind, torturously slow in every movement, striking Kurt in the chest and fracturing his heart with every moan, grunt, noise right in his ear, proof of a pleasure being pulled out of him that impossible for him to feel himself, at least when it was like this, with Adam.

It felt like a resignation back to the past, back to the usual, back to the routine.

Giving up.

It was a punishment for Kurt’s spontaneity and rashness in cheating, but it was a punishment for his cowardice, too. It was a punishment for every way he had ever treated Blaine, from his sharpness and cruelness in the beginning to the way he left to everything in between, all imperfect, scattered and in ruins, a far cry from what Blaine deserved.

It was the final stamp on the seal of Kurt walking away from Blaine, of leaving him behind, of leaving the potential for anything else behind, too.

And it felt like the final nail in the coffin of what could have been as the orgasm rocked Kurt’s body, made him tremble, made him swallow the sobs he knew he couldn’t release.

Laying in bed that night, Adam’s arm possessively around his waist, laying heavy on his torso, Kurt couldn’t sleep.

How had he _allowed_ this to happen?

How had he slipped back so easily and so quickly into exactly how they were before, into allowing Adam to take from him under the guise of a genuine connection?

How had he kissed Blaine and gotten out of the car and _left_ so easily, closing the door behind him and effectively cutting off any potential for more, for beyond, for anything but _this,_ giving up and giving in?

He didn’t know.

But maybe after everything, Kurt didn’t deserve what Blaine was willing to give him, anyways.

* * *

It wasn’t until Blaine caught sight of Dave, waiting patiently, leaned up against the kitchen counter, that he realized he hadn’t given a single thought to what he might be coming home to.

He had no idea what to expect from his husband - no predictions of how Dave’s week might have gone, no clue what he might be thinking or how he might be feeling about their relationship after spending a week apart.

Another thing Blaine hadn’t prepared for. Another thing he had avoided.

But somehow, he was surprised to find Dave so calm, _gentle,_ actually, in every way, from the small smile on his face when Blaine came inside to the chaste kiss he pressed to the corner of Blaine’s mouth, from his arms closely wrapping Blaine in a hug to the way he had two mugs of freshly-brewed coffee resting on the counter, awaiting his arrival.

Blaine wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He wasn’t sure what to do, what to say as he settled across from Dave at the kitchen table. The coffee was still too hot, burning his tongue as he sipped it, but he did so regardless, unsure of any other option.

Dave was laid back, looking comfortable in their silence, and Blaine wasn’t sure how to change that.

He wasn’t sure how to wreck it.

Finally, though, once they had quietly drained their cups of coffee and got up to rinse the mugs, Blaine reached his breaking point, and he mustered up the courage to break the fragile layer of ice that separated them from this feeble contentment and the inevitable tumult of the truth. 

“Were you, um… With Kurt’s husband? Adam?” he asked tentatively, unsure of what sort of answer to hope for. He doubted Dave had anywhere near the sort of experience he and Kurt had shared, but part of him wondered - if Dave _had_ been with Adam, what did he know? 

And was it even worth Blaine knowing?

Dave nodded, lips pressed together in a small, almost guarded smile.

“Yeah. He was… We got along fine, mostly just hung out,” he said, though there seemed to be something else. He eyed Blaine carefully for a moment, eyes flickering all over his face, before he took a breath and spoke again. “He… He had a lot to say about Kurt.”

“What do you mean? What- What did he say?”

“Just… He made it sound like Kurt is really hard to be married to. Said he’s selfish and catty and just...rude, I guess.” Dave winced, shrugged, sounding so oblivious and looking so _earnest_ that it made Blaine irrationally angry, if Dave were at fault for the seeds of painfully misled judgement planted in his brain. “I was worried about you being stuck with him all week, Bear. And I feel bad for Adam, too, I mean- He seems like a pretty nice guy, just-”

“Kurt’s not like that,” Blaine snapped, unable to hold back, unable to keep it in, feeling like defending Kurt to Dave was like defending Kurt to Adam by proxy, as if it would count, as if it would make a difference. “I’m sure Adam didn’t tell you about how he disappeared off to England for months without telling Kurt if he was ever coming back, huh? If Adam took one _minute_ to actually _see_ who Kurt really is when he’s not constantly having to protect himself, maybe-”

“Why are you defending him?” Dave asked, cutting in, though there wasn’t any accusation, any bite in it - just resignation, as if he already knew where it was all going to go, as if he were already too tired to fight. “I mean, why do you _care?”_

Immediately, there were a million reasons. Caring about Kurt was something unlike anything Blaine had ever experienced - it was a settled knowledge deep in his bones that he _would_ defend Kurt, would _always_ defend him, whether he was around or not, whether he was even _right_ or not. It was the bittersweet warmth of the memories they created together nestled safe in his chest, the soft smiles and the gentle touches and the connection and the safety and the _passion,_ too - _god,_ the passion.

It was the fire of all if it, coursing wild through Blaine’s blood and leaving no part of him untouched, every inch of him affected and impacted and _changed_ by Kurt, even after a matter of days.

It was everything that he still wanted to know about Kurt, everything he still wanted to share, everything they never would.

But Blaine didn’t say any of those reasons - he _couldn’t_ say any of them. Instead, he stayed quiet, voice caught in his throat, staring down at the tiles of the kitchen floor, knowing this was it.

This was it.

“What really happened this week, Blaine?” Dave asked, his voice carefully even.

 _Kurt changed me,_ Blaine instantly wanted to say, his heart racing in his chest at the memory of him, of the feelings and all of it. _He opened my eyes to a world of color brighter than I’ve ever known. He opened my heart to feelings I never knew were actually possible, at least outside of movies and storybooks and fairytales. He opened my mind to be curious, to want to learn and create and experience all over again._

“Dave…” he sighed instead, slowly looking up at him, meeting his husband’s eyes and truly holding them for the first time since he’d gotten home, expecting anger and rage and _hate_ but finding none of it, Dave’s gaze merely questioning, searching, trying to understand.

Part of Blaine almost wanted Dave to be angry. He wanted to be _punished_ for this, to be wronged and shamed for becoming a _cheater,_ for wrecking the life they had built, whether it had ever been a truly happy one or not. 

If Dave were angry, it would mean that he _cared,_ that he loved Blaine and wanted him and wanted _them,_ but-

He wasn’t angry.

And Blaine knew, if their roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be, either.

“Look... Hanging out with Adam made me realize something,” Dave admitted, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, looking sheepish, nervous in his own way. “We got along fine, watched football together and ordered takeout, and- I guess I realized it didn’t feel any different than with you. I… It’s been a long time since we had any kind of passion, Blaine- if we _ever_ had it. And if Kurt gave that to you…”

“He did,” Blaine murmured quietly, ducking his head back down again for a moment, ashamed for years spent ignoring their issues in favor of complacency, embarrassed for wasting his young years forcing a type of love that wasn’t there, regretful for wasting Dave’s, too. “He really did.”

“Then _chase_ it, Blaine. Chase _him._ Don’t let this get away from you.”

It felt like _approval -_ an express permission that Blaine had never considered granting himself, a freedom he didn’t know what to do with, wasn’t sure he was strong enough to handle.

And coming from Dave, coming from his _husband,_ the man he cheated on and betrayed and, truthfully, strung along for years-

It didn’t make sense.

“What?” Blaine asked, his voice barely audible, cracking somewhere in the middle of the sound. He felt like he was reeling, head spinning with how _little_ combat there was involved in any of this - and how much understanding was in its place, deep from a place of genuine selflessness, nestled in a heart he didn’t deserve.

“I’m serious. I’m gonna be fine,” Dave shrugged, cracking a small, half-smile far more genuine than it should have been. “There’s no hard feelings, okay? You can stay here as long as you need to, and we’ll figure all the other stuff out, but just- Just try, okay? Something like that’s gotta be worth fighting as hard as you can for.”

At a loss for words, Blaine shook his head slowly, knowing he was gaping, knowing his eyes were wide. But Dave’s smile only widened, and he stepped forward to close the distance between them, pulling Blaine into a hug that was oddly soothing, oddly comforting. 

“Thank you,” Blaine breathed, feeling shaken and moved and somehow still settled in the possibility of trying, although nothing was guaranteed, though he had no way of knowing if Kurt would want to try, too, if Kurt was willing to fight. “Just… Thank you.”

Dave squeezed him tight, and it was like he was holding Blaine together, ensuring every part of him was slotted into place properly before letting go. As he pulled back, he leaned down, pressing a chaste, brief kiss to Blaine’s temple before stepping away entirely, and it felt like a goodbye, at least to them in this iteration, a silent, wordless form of closure.

It felt like more than enough, far and beyond the amount of grace and understanding that Blaine deserved, but he chose not to question it, instead counting himself as being lucky for it, for the unexpected easiness of something that should be nothing but heartbreaking, challenging, devastating.

And maybe it was a sign, an indication that although things were hard, and although they would continue to be hard as long as Blaine chose to fight, fighting for Kurt was the right choice because when it was stripped it down to its bones, the feeling of being with _Kurt_ was nothing _but_ easy - and maybe in the end, if they came back to each other and held on…

Maybe they would find that ease and that simplicity all over again.

And maybe they could keep it.


End file.
